Chasm of An Empty Heart
by InfinityStar
Summary: He tried to move on with his life, certain she had moved on with hers, but all he found was emptiness and pain. And he couldn't get past it, so he gave up trying. Sequel to Because of You.
1. Broken

**_A/N: Here is the sequel to 'Because of You' that I had promised. I am not sure where it's going, but the path will lead Bobby back to New York. We'll just have to see where it goes and what happens along the way. Enjoy the ride!_**

* * *

Robert Goren slid his key into the lock on his apartment door. Stepping inside, he looked around at a large room that had not changed at all in the eight months he had lived there. Tossing the keys on a counter, he added his badge, wallet, knife and sidearm to it. Then he pulled out a handful of change and set it in a mug with other change. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Shaking one free of the pack, he lit it and set the pack and lighter beside his wallet. 

Crossing the room, he pushed open a window, letting the crisp autumn air into the apartment. He went into the kitchen and pulled out a beer and a container of cream cheese from the refrigerator. From the counter, he took a bagel from its plastic bag and cut it open. After spreading one half of the bagel with cream cheese, he returned the container to the refrigerator and took the bagel and the beer into the living room.

With a deep sigh, he collapsed onto the couch and flipped on the television, turning to the news. His stomach lurched when he saw scenes from New York, and he sat up a little straighter when the cameras turned onto a gathering of police officers. He didn't recognize any of them, but he was flooded with sudden memories from the time he had been one of them. And inevitably, his thoughts turned to the one he had left behind. _Alex..._

He finished the beer and returned to the kitchen for another, his bagel remaining untouched. A deep melancholy settled on him and he walked to the window, looking out across a well-lit, mostly full parking lot. Beyond the lot, he knew, was an expanse of grass fields. Unlike the concrete jungle he had left behind, there were vast expanses of fields and woods surrounding apartment complexes and suburban neighborhoods. Also unlike the city he'd grown up in, the crime here offered him less than a challenge. New York was a magnet for interesting personalities, and that carried over to the crimes that were committed there. His life here gave him less satisfaction than he'd ever had before. If he had to face facts, he would have to admit it. He was bored. He was bored and lonely.

Loneliness was something he was intimately familiar with, but this was a different kind of loneliness. If he wanted company, all he had to do was pick up the phone. The woman who would answer was always willing to give him company. She was more than satisfying in bed. And she never asked about his past, never wanted to know what he was feeling or thinking, never tried to connect with him on anything but a physical level. At one time, he thought that as what he needed. Even after he'd moved to Sacramento, he thought that was what he wanted. And for the first few months, it was. But recently, he found his thoughts turning more and more toward the past, toward something he had once had but had given up.

He looked toward the phone. He had called her, twice, since he left. But she had not been home, and he hadn't left a message. Last month, he'd finally broken down and called Mike Logan. After some small talk, Logan had asked him point blank if he wanted to know how she was doing. Before he could stop himself, he'd said yes. She was all right, Logan had said. Still with Major Case and partnered with him now. But that was all he would say, and it had left him feeling less than satisfied. "Don't tell her I called, Mike," he'd said.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, and to her? Just come home."

"I can't do that..."

He had not called again. It hurt too damn bad. And he was glad he had not told Logan where he was. Looking at the empty beer bottle in his hand, he threw it across the room in response to the mounting frustration and anger inside him. The sound of shattering glass was mildly satisfying. He went back into the kitchen for something stronger.

* * *

Sweat drenched, breathing hard and not yet sober, he sat up. There were some things about him that had not changed, and the demons that haunted his sleep were among them. Rising, he went into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Stripping off his boxers, he stepped into the stream of hot water. Gradually, he turned down the hot water until the stream was cold, and then he stepped from the shower, toweled off and pulled on clean boxers and a pair of sweat pants. 

It was three o'clock in the morning. Sitting heavily on the couch, he stared at the phone. It was six in New York. He didn't even have to think about that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew what time it was back home. _Home..._

_Just come home..._

He wished it was that easy. Maybe it was. In eight months, he had tried to build a life for himself in Sacramento, and he had failed miserably. He picked up the phone and began to dial. For the hundredth time, he stopped halfway through the number and slammed the receiver back in the cradle.

Looking around the room, he took stock of his life. The best thing he could say about it was that it was empty. He was on his third partner, and he knew the guy was going to leave soon. Without Eames to ground him, he floundered. He was skirting the edge of a chasm that frightened him. He ate poorly, drank too much and often lost the tentative grip he held on his temper. He already had three letters of reprimand in his file. He was definitely on thin ice...and he could hear it cracking.

Wandering into the kitchen, he poured himself a drink. Downing half the glass, he leaned over the sink and stared into the amber fluid that remained in the glass. He closed his eyes and the glass slipped through his fingers, shattering in the sink. At this pace, he was going to destroy himself in short order. His depression increased when he realized that there was no one who would care. He was going to die, alone, unless he took steps to change the path he had chosen to stumble down.

Returning to the living room, he picked up the phone and dialed the number he had started to dial before. She answered on the third ring. _Hello?_

At the sound of her voice, he closed his eyes and trembled, assaulted by overpowering memories. _Hello?_

He was short of breath, but he finally managed to speak before she hung up. "A-Alex..."

There was a dead silence on the other end of the line. _Excuse...me?_ Her voice was tentative. He knew she recognized his voice. "Hi," he said softly.

She gasped. _Bobby..._ she whispered, her voice strained by intense emotion.

This was more difficult than he had ever imagined it would be. "How...how are you?"

_Eight months..._ she said, and he heard the beginning of her anger._ Eight months, Goren, and not a fucking word. Why now?_

It was a mistake, calling her. He knew it would be. "I-I'm sorry," he managed. "I...I won't bother you again..."

He moved the receiver toward the cradle, but he heard her yell, and he hesitated. Slowly, he brought the receiver back to his ear. "Did...did you say something, Eames?"

_Yes. I said don't you dare hang up on me._ She was quiet for a long moment. _How are you, Bobby?_

Did he tell her the truth? "I'm...getting by," he answered, settling on a half-truth. "You?"

_I'm all right. You...left New York._

"Yes."

_Where are you?_

Was he prepared to tell her? He must have hesitated long enough to make her reconsider the question. _Never mind. Just...tell me you're all right, Bobby._

"I..." He couldn't outright lie to her. He had never been able to. "I can't."

_You moved on, didn't you?_

He couldn't quite keep the bitter anger from his tone. "N-no. I tried, but it never worked for me. I'm sure it was easier for you."

She didn't answer for what seemed like an eternity. _Why did you call me?_

Why had he called? He found that he didn't have an answer for that. Again he wondered if it had been a mistake. Instead of making him feel better, it made him feel as though something had torn out his gut. A hollow feeling settled deep inside him and he hurt. "I...I guess I'd better let you go. Good-bye, Eames."

This time he meant it. He wasn't going to bother her again. He was done with the past, and he didn't give a damn about the future. _Bobby! _

He hesitated one more time. "What?"

Another extended silence. Finally, she spoke, her voice so low he had to listen closely to hear her. _Please,_ she whispered._ Come home._

Hot tears spilled from his eyes. "There's nothing there for me," he answered bitterly.

_What about me?_

"What about you, Eames?"

_I...miss you. Sometimes, it physically hurts, I miss you so much. I wonder if I just didn't try hard enough to understand you..._

She was crying now, and that broke his heart, and his resolve. "No," he said softly, because if he put any volume in his voice it would break. "It wasn't you..."

_So where did we go wrong?_

"You went wrong...when you fell in love with me."

He knew she was still crying, and then she said, _I never stopped loving you, damn you._

"I-I'm sorry. I really am."

This time he did hang up. He went back into the kitchen and got another glass. He didn't go in to work that day.


	2. No One to Call

"Police!"

The man froze as he faced two armed officers, both with their guns trained on him. He waited for them to draw closer, and then he struck out. Goren moved to the left, to protect his partner, and took a hit to the side of the head. He went down. Turning over, stunned, he got to his knees and looked up as the suspect trained his weapon on Mitch Taylor._ No..._

"Hey!"

Drawing the suspect's attention from his partner, he slowly got to his feet, closing the distance between himself and the armed man. Holding his hands clear of his body, not making eye contact with the suspect, he said, "Shooting a cop is a serious business, Greg. Right now you're facing charges of possession with intent to distribute. At most, you're looking at a few years. But you shoot a cop...that's life."

The barrel of the gun shook in the man's trembling hand, but Goren kept the suspect's attention focused on him, away from his partner. Taylor had a family. He had no one. If Taylor died, lives would be destroyed. If he died...no one would notice. He motioned for Taylor to step away as he continued to move in on the suspect. Then, he looked up. He met the suspect's eyes, and the man snapped.

Goren moved fast as the gun went off, reading the junkie and reacting quickly to take him down. He had a lot of power in his punches, and beneath him, Greg was screaming. Taylor grabbed Goren around the neck and pulled him off the guy, twisting to the left. As Taylor released him and moved off, Goren hit the ground, slamming his shoulder into the asphalt beneath him. The pain set off a white light in his head, and he had to lay where he was for a moment to recuperate. He listened to Taylor read the man his rights as he cuffed him.

Slowly, deliberately, Goren got to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he headed for the car, knowing full well that his partner was watching him._ Reckless_... That's what Taylor would tell the captain. He'd said it before. 'A powder keg just waiting to go off.' He didn't care. He didn't care about much these days...but he did take his job seriously. Very seriously. It was all he had.

* * *

Back in the squad room after processing the suspect, Goren watched Taylor go into the captain's office. Once the rush of adrenaline had faded, he found that it left him feeling tired. His shoulder was sore from being wrenched when Taylor slammed him into the ground after yanking him off the suspect. He was going to get it for that. The captain had little patience for roughing up suspects, just as he had little patience for junkies who threatened cops with loaded weapons. He remembered being close to the edge before...and Eames had always prevented him from crossing that line, from losing control of himself. _Eames_...He closed his eyes. Four months had passed since he'd talked to her, and every day that went by only served to emphasize his loneliness. He forced his mind from his memories 

He didn't know how long he sat there before Taylor nudged his shoulder. "Did you hear me, Goren? Captain Fisher wants to see you."

Goren nodded and forced himself to his feet. He crossed the squad room toward the captain's office, not caring about the eyes that watched him from around the room. He knew he had a reputation for being on the edge, and by now, everyone would know he'd gone off on another suspect. Preparing himself for another dressing down, he knocked on Fisher's door and entered the office at the captain's bidding.

Lou Fisher was a short, stocky man with a slow temper, but Goren seemed to trigger it at least once a week. He looked up from his desk, and studied Goren with calm blue eyes. "Has anyone ever accused you of causing them indigestion, detective?"

"Uh...yes, sir."

He leaned back in his chair, setting his pen on the blotter in front of him as he studied the big cop shifting restlessly before his desk. "Do you have a death wish, Goren?"

"Not particularly, no."

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I had a job to do."

"And since when does your job entail drawing the fire of an unstable suspect?"

"I kept his attention off my partner," Goren replied defensively.

"Goren, every officer under my command has value. Taylor has been trained, just like you have, and he is prepared to take the same risks."

"Taylor has a family."

It was an old argument. Fisher studied him, musing over how he could not get this man to see any worth in himself. A year and he knew nothing about this officer that was not in his personnel file. Goren never talked about his private life, not with anyone. But for all his flaws, he was a good cop. When he drew forth a confession, it stuck, in spite of his often explosive temper. He was conscientious and careful with every life he was entrusted to protect, with every life except his own. Fisher knew that Goren was difficult to work with, and that exact subject had been the topic of Taylor's tirade a few minutes ago. He was ready to move on to a more stable partner, and Fisher was sorry to hear that. He'd have to find another officer to partner with Goren. He watched the detective return his scrutiny from under heavy lids. "Taylor had to pull you off the guy. That temper of yours..." He let out a heavy sigh. "Goren, Taylor has a lot of respect for the results you get. But he doesn't particularly like the way you get them. He's requested reassignment."

"I knew it was coming."

The captain sighed. "Goren...take some time off." When he saw signs that he was going to balk at the request, he removed the request part of the equation. "Consider it an order, then. Three weeks, pending the results of a psychiatric examination."

Goren looked down at the floor for a moment before he shrugged. "Whatever."

"Look..."

"It's fine, captain. I just..."

He waved his right hand in the air dismissively. He wasn't feeling well, and he just wanted to get done with this and get back to his desk. The pain in his shoulder was gone now, although he wasn't sure he could feel his hand. He just felt incredibly tired. He had a bottle of aspirin in his desk. A couple of them and he'd feel better.

As he picked up his pen, Fisher kept his eyes on his detective. "File your report, detective, and go home. Take the time to get some rest. I'll call you in a few days."

Goren nodded and turned toward the door. He took two steps and everything went black.

* * *

Logan tossed a file across the desk at Eames, grinning. "Your turn." 

She frowned at him but sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine," she replied.

As she got to her feet and turned toward the captain's office, a voice from across the room called her name. "Line two," he told her.

She picked up the phone and pressed the blinking extension. "Eames."

_Alexandra Eames?_

"Yes."

_Do you know a man named Robert Goren?_

She sat heavily, her heart in her throat. "Is he all right?"

_I'll take that as a 'yes.' My name is Lou Fisher. I'm a narcotics captain with the Sacramento Police Department. Goren is one of my detectives._

"You didn't answer my question, captain."

_That's because I don't know how to answer it, detective.  
_

"Is he in trouble?"

_Again, I don't know, but my gut is telling me yes. _

"What makes you call me, captain? I have heard from him once in the past year."

_Detective Eames, Goren was shot this morning arresting a suspect.  
_

She caught her breath again and grief hit her like a brick wall. "No...Is he..."

She couldn't bring herself to ask the question, fearing the answer more than anything else. Fisher seemed to sense her fear. _I'm in the emergency room with him and they are still working on him, but it's not a lethal injury.  
_

She felt no relief. "Did he ask you to call me?"

_No, he didn't  
_

"Then I don't understand why you are calling me."

_Because you are the only contact I have for him. _

Eames frowned. "Me? He has me as his contact?"

_Not exactly. You are in his personnel file as his primary beneficiary. I have no one else to call, and I thought that maybe you could help me._

"I don't know how."

Fisher was quiet for a moment, confused. _Then you don't know him?_

"I did, once. He used to drive me crazy, captain, and I never loved anyone more. But he is the one who walked away and I haven't seen him since. I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do to help you."

Fisher released a slow breath, and his voice was laced with regret. _I'm sorry I bothered you, Detective Eames._

She set the phone in the cradle, feeling as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. Logan saw the grief and distress on her face. "What was that about?"

"That was a narcotics captain from Sacramento. He was calling about Bobby. He was shot this morning."

Logan closed his eyes. "Oh, hell..."

"He said it's not lethal, but he's still worried. I can't help him, Mike."

He held out his hand for the file he knew she was going to return to him. "Tell him I said hi."


	3. Reunited

Fisher returned to the squad room feeling drained. He wondered about the conversation he'd had with Detective Eames. _I never loved anyone more...he was the one who walked away..._

In one five minute phone conversation he learned more about his detective than he had learned from Goren in a year, even if it still wasn't much. Taylor intercepted him on his way across the squad room, following him into his office. "Captain? How is Goren?"

"He was still out of it when I left, but the doctors say he'll be all right. A couple of days in the hospital and then he'll recover at home."

"I swear, I didn't know he'd been hit."

Fisher sat heavily and rubbed his eyes with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I realize that, Taylor." He shuffled through some papers on the desk. "Mendoza will be your new partner."

"Captain, I tried..."

Fisher waved his hand. "I know you did. You lasted longer than Patterson, Martinez and Potter did. Don't sweat it. I'll find someone."

He turned his attention to the work on his desk, silently dismissing Taylor. Finding a new partner for Goren was going to be the real challenge. He opened his drawer and pulled out a form to request a departmental psychological evaluation. Staring at it, he set it off to the side, deciding to visit Goren in the hospital in the next day or so. If he came away feeling as uneasy as he did now, he would submit the form. The visit would be Goren's last benefit of a doubt.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me," Fisher sat up straighter in his chair and almost wished he had not answered the phone. His lunch now sat like a lead ball in the center of his stomach. "What happened?"

The captain looked up at the sound of a knock on his office door. Bracing the phone against his shoulder with his head, he motioned for the woman in the doorway to come in, indicating he would just be a minute. "All right, doctor. I'll see to him. Thank you for calling."

Placing the receiver back in the cradle with a frustrated slam, he looked up at his visitor and apologized. "It's been a long day. May I help you?"

"You are Captain Fisher?"

"I am. And you are...?"

"Alex Eames. We spoke yesterday."

It took a moment for him to place the name, and when he did, he rose from his chair with his hand extended. "Detective Eames...It's nice to meet you. Please sit down." As she sat, he returned to his chair and added, "Forgive my surprise. I got the impression you had washed your hands of Goren."

"I thought I had, too. My heart, and my conscience, told me otherwise."

"Just how did you know him?"

"I was his partner for seven years. How is he?"

Fisher sighed heavily. "I was on the phone with his doctor when you came in. Apparently, he left the hospital AMA this afternoon."

She rubbed her temple. "He is stubborn, I'll give him that."

"Did you know him well?"

"Yes. Better than just about anyone."

"He has been a member of this squad for the past year, and I still don't know much more than his name. His personnel file has told me more than he has." He let out a soft breath. "Tell me something. If you're no longer close, why does he have you listed as his beneficiary?"

Eames sighed, a look of deep sorrow on her face. She bit her lip and waited a moment to reply. "Because he has no one else...because that was his way of telling me that he's sorry...once it was too late." She rubbed her temple. "I can't explain him, captain. There are so many aspects to him I always simply accepted and never understood. Calling him complicated would be an understatement."

Fisher shuffled the papers on his desk. "I have never known a man so withdrawn."

"That is his primary coping mechanism. When he hurts, he withdraws, sometimes too far. That was part of what happened before he left, and I just couldn't reach him."

"Would you like to come with me to check on him?"

She nodded. "Yes, I would."

He rose to his feet. "Let's go, then."

* * *

The sound of the doorbell irritated him, but he forced himself off the couch to answer it. He had a feeling the captain would come to check on him as soon as he found out he'd checked himself out of the hospital and he wasn't wrong. Slowly, he pulled the door open. "Captain," he said by way of greeting.

"Why do you hate me, Goren?"

"Sir?"

"Why are you here? You should be in the hospital."

"There was no reason for me to stay."

"And which medical degree qualifies you to make that assessment?"

"I know how I feel."

"Forgive me for pointing out that you kind of missed the fact that you'd been shot."

Goren frowned. "No, I didn't."

Fisher shook his head. "Goren..." He sighed. "Look, I have someone with me who would like to see you."

He wasn't surprised. He knew this wasn't a social call. He gave Fisher a disapproving glare and waited, preparing himself to deal with whatever mental health professional the captain had brought with him. When she stepped into view, all he could do was stare.

When the color drained from Goren's face, Fisher's first impression was that the guy looked as though he was seeing a ghost. "Do I assume correctly that introductions are unnecessary?"

Goren didn't reply, continuing to stare at his former partner and praying he was seeing things. That only served to remind him of why he'd stopped praying years ago. "Eames..." was all he could manage.

She was deeply disturbed by the man she saw in front of her. Haggard and disheveled, he didn't look well, and it was not something she could contribute solely to his injury. He looked every bit as unkempt as he had during the final months of his mother's life and the time that had followed. It was evident to her that he was not taking care of himself...not eating right, not caring. And yet, his hair was damp from a recent shower and she caught a whiff of his soap...which sent a shiver through every part of her. He had always been a study in contrasts, never one to react to anything as a normal person would. Of course, when had Goren ever been normal?

Fisher folded his arms across his chest, an impatient gesture. He wasn't inclined to stand in the hallway all night. Goren shifted restlessly, movement the captain was very familiar with. A little color had returned to Goren's face, he noticed, but he wasn't certain what that meant. A deep frown had replaced the man's look of shock, but Fisher couldn't read him. No one unsettled him more than his rookie detective did. A seasoned cop in a rookie's skin, Goren had never made sense to him. Never.

Finally, Eames spoke. "I am not going to stand in the hallway all night, Goren. You have two choices, and only two. You can let us in or you can close the door. But I'll be fair and warn you: if you choose to close the door, that's it. I am done with you...for good. So if you never want to see me again, close the door now."

For a moment, she was afraid that was exactly what he was going to do, and honestly, it would not have surprised her one bit. He moved, grasping the doorknob in a white-knuckled grip. But he stepped back, giving silent permission for them to enter his sanctuary from the world.

She braced herself to see an apartment as disheveled as he was, but she was surprised. His living space was as neat and tidy as it had ever been. Carefully placed in bookcases around the room were his beloved books. A true librarian's son, one of the rare gifts his mother had given him was a deep and abiding love for the written word. Frances Goren's other gift to her youngest son was his insatiable thirst for knowledge. But there were few items around the room that gave it a personal feel. She was not surprised by the lack of knickknacks and adornments, but she did notice two framed pictures, both of which caught her off guard. The photo of his mother was less surprising than the other one. Crossing the room to a bookcase, she studied the face that smiled at her from a cherry wood frame. She was looking at herself. Turning to give him a puzzled look, she was met by a face that reflected more pain than she had ever seen in a human face. The ice that had her heart in its grasp melted in that moment, but she did not approach him.

He turned away, looking at his captain. "Can I get you a drink or something?"

"Do you have coffee?"

Goren nodded and walked into the kitchen. Fisher looked at Eames, who watched her former partner until he disappeared from the room. "Detective Eames?"

She turned toward the captain. Her eyes brimmed with tears which she refused to let fall. "I don't know if there's anything I can do, Captain Fisher. I have never seen him like this."

"I am going to put in a request for a psych eval."

She shrugged. "I doubt it will do any good. Right now, he's unreachable; he won't let anyone in. Have you seen him as a danger to anyone?"

Fisher shook his head. "I've had to reprimand him for his temper a few times after he roughed up suspects during confrontations. The only life he seems to be reckless with is his own, but I wouldn't call him suicidal. It just seems to me that he doesn't care."

"You said he's been through four partners?"

"Yes. They couldn't work with him. His latest partner left because he doesn't want Goren's death on his conscience."

The soft conversation faded when Goren returned. He looked at Eames. "Do you, uh, want coffee, too?"

She nodded. "That would be good."

He looked at her as though he wanted to say more, but he didn't. Turning, he walked away. Eames looked at Fisher, then crossed the living room. Stopping in the kitchen doorway, she took in the room on a quick perusal. The one thing that caught her attention was the recycling bin, and she felt the sharp sting of pity for him, which she quickly chased away, knowing how much he hated being the object of anyone's pity. But he'd turned to look at her, following her gaze, and his face became dark. She said nothing as he poured coffee into two mugs. She couldn't help wondering if the sink was clean of dishes because he had washed them or because he had not used any recently. She watched as he spooned sugar into one of the cups. He had not forgotten how she took her coffee, though that didn't surprise her.

When he handed her the richly sugared coffee, she wrapped her hands around the mug and offered a weak smile of gratitude. He didn't react, moving past her to hand Fisher the other mug. Motioning toward the furniture, Goren said, "Sit down."

It wasn't much of an invitation, Eames reflected, not missing the resentment that dripped from his voice. He did not like to be bothered when he was like this, and she didn't have to wonder how long he'd felt that way. She did wonder if he remembered how to feel any other way. He disappeared from the room again, returning with a beer bottle.

He sat in a recliner across from where she and Fisher sat, uncomfortable, on the couch. Dark, empty eyes studied them and he waited for one of them to speak. Eames knew he wouldn't start the conversation. She wasn't even certain he would contribute to it.

Fisher was looking at the same man he'd been trying to deal with for the past year; Eames was looking at the familiar face of a man she did not know. "How is your shoulder, detective?" Fisher asked, trying not to notice the dark, red area that had seeped through the bandages, still damp from the shower Fisher knew he should not have taken.

"It's all right," Goren answered in a flat tone.

"The hospital gave you something for pain, didn't they?"

Goren shook his head. "I left before they got that far."

"Detective..."

"It's fine, captain. I've been through worse."

Eames was surprised that he did not direct that last comment toward her, even if it was not her fault that he found himself in this condition. His current circumstance was a hell of his own making and she refused to take any ownership of it. A few minutes passed before she realized he was not offering her ownership of it. He knew how he'd come to be where he was. What he couldn't do was bring himself to fix it, something she alternatively understood and resented, simply because she knew him so well.

She was not surprised by his withdrawal; it was something she was very used to. She wondered, however, how much of it was fueled by the presence of his captain, given that he had gone to such great pains to hide himself from the people he worked with.

Fisher knew he was not welcome, and he stayed only long enough to be reassured that Goren actually was all right. Aspirin and beer would be his pain control, and Fisher debated calling one of the department doctors to evaluate his pain and perhaps provide something that would work better for him. He got to his feet after about twenty minutes of stilted conversation. "I am going home now. I just wanted to make sure you are all right, Goren. I'll be back tomorrow."

Goren opened his mouth to protest, but remembered that Eames was there and remained silent. He looked at the mostly empty beer bottle in his hand and gave a brief nod. Fisher was surprised, but pleased that he would not have to turn the offer into an order. Offers were something Goren rarely accepted; orders he understood. He looked at Eames. "Detective Eames? Where are you staying?"

"I don't have a room yet. I went to your office directly from the airport."

"Allow me to find a room for you, then. I..."

"I'll take care of her," Goren said suddenly.

Fisher and Eames both looked at him, surprised. The captain looked at Eames, who nodded. She was angry at Goren, and she still hurt deeply because of him and for him, but she trusted him. "I'll be fine, Captain Fisher."

Fisher did not doubt her. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." His eyes shifted from Eames to Goren and back. "Call me if either of you need anything."

Eames thanked him; Goren gave him a curt nod. It was more acknowledgment than Fisher usually got from him. The captain set his cup on the coffee table and left. Goren and Eames were alone, and together, for the first time in a year. She refused to be uncomfortable around him; he was uncomfortable enough for them both.

"Is there a decent motel nearby?" she asked.

He nodded. "About two miles down the road. You can take my car."

"Fine But before I go, I am going to change that bandage and you are going to eat a decent meal."

"Eames..."

"Shut up, Goren. Do you have bandages for a dressing change?"

"Bathroom."

He sat in silence as she changed the bandage on his shoulder, watching her with quiet intensity. It was a struggle for her to suppress the strong reaction she had to his scrutiny, and she was annoyed with herself that she felt that way after all that had happened between them. He slumped back into the recliner as she finished and moved away from him. "Now, dinner," she said, forcing her tone to be light as she went into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging around and he waited. After a few minutes, she came back into the living room. "Change of plan," she said. "We're going out for a decent meal...and then we'll go to the grocery store."

He sighed. "Eames..." he tried again.

"Go get a shirt on," she told him.

"I..."

"Now."

He looked at her and it crossed his mind to be stubborn, but he recognized the set of her jaw and the challenge in her eye. He refused to get into an argument so soon after being reunited with her, even if he had not planned the reunion. With a deep sigh of resignation, he got up and went down the short hallway to his bedroom.

Watching him go, Eames thought to herself, _Good boy...you've taken your first steps on your journey back to the human race._


	4. Uncertainty

The ride to the restaurant was a silent one. Eames drove, and Goren did not interact at all except to tell her which way to turn. When they arrived at the smoky Italian restaurant, she parked and let him lead the way inside. Once he'd had a habit of being charming, of smiling and flirting harmlessly with waitresses and hostesses. She had always found it amusing and she watched for it now. The closest he got, however, was the small smile he gave the hostess when she told them their table would be ready in fifteen minutes and offered for them to wait in the bar.

Sliding onto the barstool beside Goren, she ordered a rum and coke while he asked for scotch. The silence between them, once comfortable, was now distant and awkward. She hated this. She hated what he had become since he'd left even more than what he'd been before. Her gut churned with worry for him and concern that she would not be able to pull him back from the precipice he had so precariously balanced himself on. She waited for his halting entry into an uncomfortable conversation. It never came. He simply stared into his drink and remained silent. Who was this man?

He took a drink, and he found himself resenting the burn of the liquid as it follow the path of his throat into his stomach. He wanted to talk to her, but he had no idea what to say. He read her discomfort as clearly as he read the headlines of the paper, and he knew he was the cause of it, but he had no clue how to dispel it. More than anything else, though, he wondered why she was there. What could Fisher have told her that would have made her jump on a plane with nothing more than the overnight bag sitting beside his apartment door? What did he say that put that worry on her face and the resulting uncertainty in his gut? What should he say or do? Opting for silence, to wait for her to make the first move, he took another drink and stared into his glass.

Eames was so lost in thought and concern she did not notice the man who slid onto the other stool beside her until he spoke. She could hear the alcohol in his voice and she cringed. This was shaping up to be a long, difficult evening. "Hello, pretty lady."

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. He was stocky and balding, dressed in a cheap business suit, and he reeked of gin. She could feel the tension rise in Goren without casting a single glance his way and her stomach tightened even more. "Excuse me?"

Too inebriated to read her tone, the man continued, "Buy you a drink? I got a room down the street with a nice, big, lonely bed."

"I think you should move on," she replied, trying not to sound confrontational. "I'm not interested."

"I can spark your interest," he pressed.

Eames felt her gut clench even more at the tone in the voice that came from behind her. "The lady said no thank you."

She knew that tone well. Low and dangerous, it spoke a clear warning to the man on her other side, but the warning went unheeded. Jutting out his chin, the drunk growled, "Mind your own business, pal."

"She _is_ my business. She's with me."

Bloodshot eyes turned back to Eames. "I'm sure I can show you a better time, little lady."

The verbal dispute would never have come to blows but for one fatal error on the part of the drunk. He reached out and touched her. When his hand came to rest on her shoulder, Goren was on his feet, spinning the man away from her and getting in his face. "She told you she's not interested. Now be on your way."

She jumped to her feet when the drunk swung clumsily at Goren, who ducked his head back out of harm's way. He had a good six inches on the guy. It struck Eames to the core how much out of touch she was with Goren, though, when she stepped in to defuse the situation. A year and a half ago, interjecting herself between him and an adversary would have brought him up short and ended the fight. "Bobby..."

She had barely gotten out his name before she noticed he was in mid-swing. He hit the drunk, knocking him back into the bar, but his follow-through slammed into her, sending her sprawling. Fury bubbled up from deep inside her, but she swallowed it quickly when she saw the look of abject horror on his face as he stared at her, sitting on the floor. When he held out a trembling hand, she glared at him and got to her feet without his assistance. Her angry eyes darted to the drunk on the floor and then to her mortified companion. She shook her head and left the bar.

Walking to the hostess, she asked if their table was ready and was immediately shown to a small, nicely appointed table in a quiet corner of the dimly lit restaurant. She knew he would follow her and in that he did not disappoint her. A waiter set their abandoned drinks on the table and handed them each a menu, apologizing for the scene in the bar. The drunk patron was being escorted back to his motel room, avoiding the need for police involvement. Eames wondered if it was an undercurrent of relief that briefly flicked over Goren's face or something else entirely.

Once the waiter was gone, softly, he muttered an apology. She had been expecting that. Even with Goren, some things never changed. But she found herself unwilling to accept it. "What are you apologizing for?" she demanded.

He looked confused, and she swallowed the deep emotion that look stirred inside her. "F-for knocking you down," he replied with uncertainty.

She shook her head. "That was an accident. That's not why I'm angry. I don't want an apology from you for something you did not intend to do."

"I-I don't understand."

"Yeah, I get that."

She turned her attention to the menu, fully realizing that she was leaving him floundering. But she wanted him to think—he was good at that—and to assess his actions. By the time she decided on chicken marsala and lowered her menu, she expected him to realize why she was angry. She expected too much. He was staring at the closed menu, still confused and uncertain. She sighed deeply. "What do you want for dinner?" she asked before the waiter returned.

He bit his lower lip and she lowered her head to try catching his gaze. "Bobby?"

He rolled his eyes toward her, allowing a very brief contact. But in the second he allowed her to catch his gaze, she saw something that tightened her gut all over again. What on earth had driven this man to such despair? "Never mind," she said. "I'll order for the both of us."

When the waiter arrived, she ordered her chicken. For him, she chose a light fare, grilled chicken with pasta and vegetables, certain by now that his stomach had grown unaccustomed to much food. The waiter stepped away with the menus and their order, and she took the time to study the man who refused to look at her. If the incident in the bar had taken place in New York, she would be on her way home by now. Displays of feather ruffling and machismo really pissed her off. But something told her it was more than that with him. He'd never been one to create a situation. He had always been the one to settle them down. She'd watched him talk down perps, suspects, drunks, potential suicides...Why couldn't he talk himself down? Why did he have to?

"Look at me, Goren," she demanded. Sweet talk was not what this man needed.

She waited and finally, he did as she asked. The eyes that met hers, always dark with emotion when he looked at her, made her turn cold. She saw nothing. No emotion, no warmth, not even the spark that had once lived there. "Talk to me," she demanded.

He knew what she meant. She knew he did. But he was a master of evasion and she knew that, too. "Why are you here?" he asked.

The curiosity that had once driven his life was not behind the question. He was honestly baffled by her sudden presence back in his life, such that it was. "Why did you run away?" she shot back.

Run away? His mind turned those words over and over. He never saw it as running away. He'd simply tried to start over. Was it his fault his attempt had failed so miserably? His intent in leaving had been to set her free, and in doing so, to turn himself over to a new life. He'd left behind his junkie brother, his dead mother and her damn secrets, the shadow she had cast over every aspect of his life. And he'd left behind the pain of his failed relationship with Eames. He found himself unable to continue with the partnership under the shadow of losing her love and respect. Since everything in New York reminded him of her, he also found himself unable to stay. But moving across the country had not done him any good either. Without her, he found himself in a downward spiral he was unable...and unwilling...to halt. "I...didn't," he answered.

Before she could reply, their food arrived. She watched the waiter leave, sensing the time for gentle probing for information was gone. "That's gotta be the fastest kitchen in the state," she complained.

Glancing at him, expecting one of the small smiles her comments often elicited from him, she was disappointed to find nothing. His eyes were cast toward his plate and he was poking idly at his vegetables. It was going to take a huge effort on her part to reach him, and she was not even sure she would be able to do it.

By the time she was halfway through her meal, he had not even touched his. She watched him push his vegetables around his plate. "Eat your food, Bobby. Don't tease it."

There was no response. The waiter again appeared from out of nowhere. "Is something wrong with your food, sir?"

He shook his head and Eames answered, "It's not the food."

The waiter met her eyes and then, with a brief nod, he walked away. Something happened, though, in response to her assurance to the waiter. "Not with the food," he murmured. "With me."

Eames sighed. "No, Bobby. There's nothing wrong with _you_. Now your behavior...that's another issue entirely."

She watched him reach for his glass, and she moved her hand. Expecting to close his fingers around glass, he was surprised to find, instead, soft, yielding flesh. He looked up suddenly, almost alarmed, but he did not withdraw his hand. It was the first time he'd touched her in over a year...and he felt an unfamiliar heat stir deep within him at the contact. No, it wasn't unfamiliar...it was very familiar...but it was a distant memory suddenly intruding into the present, unwanted and unwelcome. He met her eyes, and that did not help him at all.

She held his gaze and wondered if he was feeling the same powerful reaction to the sensation of flesh against flesh. It was only their hands, and a tentative touch at that. _Oh, my God..._she thought.

After a few minutes during which he found himself unable to move, he finally cast down his eyes and withdrew his hand. A few deep breaths and he rose. Dropping his wallet onto the table beside her, without saying a word, he left the restaurant.

With a sigh, she let him go. Taking her time to finish her dinner and contemplate what had just happened, she then had the waiter box up Goren's untouched meal. Paying with the cash in his wallet, and not feeling the least bit guilty for it, she left a generous tip and walked out of the restaurant.

She scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of him. With a heavy sigh she got into his car and retraced the route they'd taken to the restaurant. Parking the car in the lot outside his apartment, she went into the building and climbed the flight of stairs to his floor.

As she emerged from the stairwell into the hallway, she stopped. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against his door, waiting for her. His chin was resting against his chest and his uninjured arm was propped on one knee and draped across the back of his neck. He looked miserable. She sighed softly, and her heart went out to him. But she could not go soft on him now, not when he needed her not to be.

Approaching slowly, she stopped beside him, resisting the urge to rest her hand on his head, and slid the key into the lock. As she turned it, she watched him get up. Pushing the door open, she went into the apartment. She knew him well enough to see the unsteadiness he was good at hiding. Her heart ached for him, and she had no idea why. He had done this to himself, and now it fell to her to undo it. Who had appointed her his savior? The answer was a revelation to her. She had no choice. Her heart dictated Goren's place in her life, and when he was not there, she felt...incomplete. She had made up her mind, without even knowing it, to do whatever she had to do to win him back. If she lost him for good, she would never be whole.

Dropping his wallet on the coffee table, she went into the kitchen to put his dinner in the nearly empty refrigerator. Two six packs of German beer and a quart of milk two-and-a-half weeks past its expiration date. Sighing, she returned to the living room, where he was sitting on the couch. "I'll find a motel room and be back in the morning," she said, keeping her voice neutral.

He didn't react, continuing to rub his injured shoulder, which hurt like hell. His mind locked onto the fact that she was leaving and he felt an increase in his ever-present restlessness. He looked at her briefly, then looked back down at the floor. Before he knew what he was saying, the words were out of his mouth. "I...wish you wouldn't."

"You wish I wouldn't what?"

That was his opening, his way out. All he had to do was say _never mind_ and she would be off to find a motel room. But would she come back? That wasn't a risk he was willing to take. He found himself wanting her there, though he could not explain why. "Please..." he murmured, cringing at the way he sounded to his own ears. Readjusting his tone, he said, "Stay here. You can sleep in the bed. I generally sleep on the couch anyway."

He didn't wait for her to reply. The decision was hers. Stretching out on the couch, he turned onto his uninjured side, back to the room, and rested his other hand against his injured shoulder, hoping pressure would dull the pain but knowing it would not.

Standing near the door, she watched him, reading tension in every curve of his body. Making up her mind, she set his keys on the coffee table near his wallet and started for the hallway to the bedroom, grabbing her overnight bag on the way.

A soft groan of pain stopped her. Turning, she watched him shift, searching in vain for a position that didn't hurt quite so much. After a few moments of watching him, she silently set down her bag and crossed the room to the couch where she knelt beside him.

When her hands came to rest on his back, she thought he was going to come apart at the seams, but as she kneaded his tense muscles, he began to relax. His breathing was staggered at first, but gradually, it evened out, becoming regular and deeper. For a long time, she continued to massage his muscles. When she was certain he was well asleep, she weaved her fingers into his hair, the way she once had when he'd slept beside her. Silently, she reflected on how much she had loved him, and she was surprised to discover that her love for him had really not diminished. It had been eclipsed for awhile by anger and hurt, but it was still there, still strong, and that was unexpected.

But she had no idea if he felt the same. The only thing she knew for certain was that he was lost in a well of deep despair, and she wondered if she had arrived in time to save him. Leaning down, she pressed her lips against his temple and stood. Then she went into the bedroom, changed into sleep pants and a sleeveless top, and went to bed. Sleep was elusive for a long time, but she finally drifted off, and she dreamed of him.


	5. The Journey Begins

_A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step._  
---Confucius

* * *

Eames woke the next morning, uncertain after a restless night. She felt drained, and worry was eating at her like a cancer. She went into the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror, gently touching the bruise the colored her cheek where Goren had accidentally struck her the night before. Then she found herself wondering what looked back out at him when he looked into the reflective surface and if he liked what he saw. The man she saw when she looked at him right now had her so concerned there was a tight knot around the lump in her stomach. Did he look as bad to his own eyes?

She made up her mind, then and there, that when she returned to New York, either he would be with her or she would finally have the closure he had denied her a year ago. She would be done with him for good, ready to move on with her life. With all her heart, she prayed she would be able to reach him so she would not have to say good-bye. Closure or not, she would never be the same if she had to leave him for good.

Returning to the bedroom, she looked around. In New York, his bedroom had been a warm, inviting room. This bedroom, however, lacked that and she wasn't sure why. It was the same furniture, arranged in the same way. But Bobby was different, and that difference was manifested in every part of his life, making everything cold and unwelcoming.

She walked to the closet and slid the door open. She was not prepared for what happened next. His suits were lined up, neatly hung on hangers and sorted by color. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the odor of clean fabric, hit her like an ocean breaker. With a sob, she sank to her knees and cried. She cried for the loss of what they had once had as well as for the loss of the man he had once been. She cried with grief over what was left of the man who had once been her partner and her lover and she prayed for the strength and patience she would need to get him back, to save him from himself.

She did not know how long she sat there, leaning her shoulder against his dresser in the doorway of his open closet, sobbing and trying to pull herself together. She had no idea why the sight of his suits, of all things, would drive her to collapse with grief and worry. But she did know one thing for certain. She was going to do everything she could to get him back, to restore the spark of life in a man who was empty inside. _Bobby..._

Once recovered from the overpowering wave of dark emotion, she dressed in a sleeveless shirt and jeans, stepped into her shoes and returned to the bathroom to wash her face. She hated that she needed to prepare herself to face him. Where the hallway entered the living room, she stopped and studied the sleeping form on the couch. Since he was laying on his back, it was easy to watch the easy rise and fall of his chest, which was reassuring to her. But her worry intensified as she listened to his soft snoring. She only knew him to sleep on his back or to snore when he'd been drinking. Her eyes strayed to the bottle on the coffee table, two-thirds empty of its contents. Approaching the couch, she tenderly fingered his hair. He didn't move. What pain had driven him to seek an alcoholic salve in the middle of the night?

She looked toward the kitchen, knowing she would find no breakfast in there. He didn't even have a box of cereal. Grabbing his keys and her purse, she quietly left the apartment.

* * *

She had no trouble finding a grocery store nearby and as she wandered through the aisles, choosing what she would need to stock his apartment and prepare decent meals for him as she tried to get him back on his feet, her phone rang. She smiled at the caller ID and answered the call from New York. "Checking up on me, Logan?" 

_Not on you, sweetheart. How's the big guy?_

"Not so good. I'm really worried about him, Mike."

_Was he hurt that badly?_

"No. He was hit in the shoulder, but he left the hospital AMA. That's not why I'm worried, though. He...God, he's in bad shape. He hasn't been taking care of himself. He's withdrawn from everyone and everything, and he's been eating barely enough to sustain him. I don't know what I can do for him."

_You're doing it, Alex. You're there. Look, stay as long as you have to. I got you covered on this end. Ross said do what you have to do and pass on his regards._

"Really?"

_Yeah. Isn't that a kick in the pants? He's glad he turned up, believe it or not. Tell him... _He paused. _Tell him I miss him._

She smiled. "I will. Thanks, Mike."

Slipping the phone into her pocket, she began choosing what she wanted from the produce section.

* * *

When she returned to the apartment, she was not surprised to find he had not moved. She brought the groceries into the apartment and put them away, then she began to prepare something to eat. 

She sensed rather than heard him in the doorway as she turned the bacon in the pan. For such a big man, he was surprisingly graceful and stealthy. What seemed a lifetime ago, she had become used to him sneaking up on her, when he was in one of his playful moods, moods that slipped away from him as his mother's health deteriorated and eventually vanished for good. She still mourned their passing. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said, "Coffee's fresh."

As he crossed behind her to get a cup, she added, "Pots and pans do like to be used, you know."

Listening to the coffee being poured into his cup, she continued, "I'll change that dressing after you eat."

She didn't expect a reply and he didn't offer one, but that didn't keep her from getting annoyed. "I'm not talking to hear my own voice, Goren."

He opened the refrigerator and stared, not used to seeing it fully stocked. She looked at him. "Don't tell me you planned to use that curdled milk in your coffee. And, yes, you put food in a refrigerator. It's not just a big beer cooler."

She heard the soft sigh before he finally said, "Th-thank you, Eames...but..."

She interrupted him, not wanting to hear any excuses for why he didn't want food in the place. "Don't," she warned.

He fell back into silence as he poured a little milk into his coffee. Then he stood at the counter, staring at the wall behind the toaster, which Eames decided he had never used. Finally, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"For the same reason I came to Sacramento."

"You never answered me when I asked you why you were here."

"So you still have no clue?"

Slowly, he turned his back to the counter and faced her, but he could not see her face and that was all right with him. "No. I don't."

She lifted the bacon from the pan onto a plate lined with a paper towel. Placing a pat of butter into a second, smaller pan, she scrambled four eggs, spooning equal portions onto each of two plates. "Go sit at the table," she insisted, eying the bandage on his shoulder.

When she looked at him, his eyes moved to her face and he gasped at the sight of the bruise on her cheek. Instinctively stepping toward her, he stopped himself, his hand in midair. His fingers clasped into a fist and his face closed off suddenly as he looked away.

Taking his coffee, he left the kitchen without saying anything more. She watched as he set down his coffee cup and ran his hand over untidy curls. She wanted desperately to reach out to him, to hug him and kiss away his grief, but he was not ready for affection and she did not want to drive him even further away.

She had seen the beginning of this when his mother was dying and their personal relationship was in its death throes. She had been unable to reach him then, and she had always wondered if she had tried hard enough. Could she have prevented this?

Dropping two slices of bread in the toaster, she looked at his broad back as she pushed down the lever on its side. She choked up as she realized just how far he had fallen in the past year, and she knew, if he continued along the way he was going, it was not going to take much more before his captain called her to bury him. The next suspect he antagonized might not be the one to take him out, but it was coming. She could see it, and so, she knew, could Lou Fisher. She liked the narcotics captain and she saw genuine concern in him. He was struggling to find a lifeline his detective would grasp and until he called her he had come up empty. Without realizing it, Fisher had found Goren's only lifeline but he was not reaching out to her. Drowning in his despair, he was going down for the last time. She was reaching out as far as she could reach, but he was not reaching back.

As soon as the toast was done, she buttered the slices and carried both plates to the table, setting one in front of him and the other in front of the seat opposite him. Returning to the kitchen for two forks and a fresh cup of coffee, she then sat down and watched him stare at the table top, ignoring his plate. "Bobby," she said, keeping her tone even and firm. "Eat your breakfast, please."

He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was dry. Taking a drink of coffee, he looked at his plate but made no move to lift his fork. Two words floated into her mind. _Tough love._ She slammed her hand against the table top. "Eat, dammit," she growled. "Or I'm getting on the next plane to New York."

That got a reaction from him, but it wasn't one she expected. Braced for anger and withdrawal, the last thing she expected was panic. "Please...don't..."

"I can't sit here and watch you destroy yourself. I won't do it. If you are not going to make any effort to even try to meet me halfway, then there is no reason for me to stay here."

She was going to leave, and just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. But what did he expect? Her life was in New York. Her family, her nephew, her job...it was all there. He would never ask her to leave them; he had no right to ask _anything_ of her. But he couldn't bear the thought of her losing her again. Without her...he was nothing, and he was at a loss to explain why. He tried to move on, to get over her, but he had not succeeded. When she left again, he would be even less able to handle his life. He would not let her know that, though. He was not going to pressure her to change her life for him, even if it was something she was willing to do. It was not something he would let her do, and it did not occur to him that it was his own life that needed the changing.

"Eat," she said one more time, and finally, he complied.

She watched him take a few tentative bites of his eggs and she breathed a silent sigh of relief when he continued to eat past the first two bites. Maybe she had a chance to get through to him. She had to keep trying. He had given up on himself; she would not give up on him as well.

She was very pleased when he finished his meal, and she sent him to the couch while she cleaned up and retrieved his box of first aid supplies. Sitting on one leg, she gently peeled the bloody dressing from his shoulder. With cool, gentle fingers, she caressed the bruised skin around his gunshot wound, disturbed by the blood that still seeped from it. "When are you supposed to go back to the doctor?" she asked, deep concern softening her tone.

He looked at her, wondering where the cold, hard edge had gone and why she had suddenly softened. "I don't know. We never got that far."

With an impatient huff, she asked, "Where is your doctor's number?"

"In my wallet."

Turning her attention back to his shoulder, she bandaged it and set the box on the floor. Then she took his wallet from the coffee table where she had set it the night before. She felt his eyes on her as she sifted through the contents of his wallet until she found the card, which she handed to him. "Make an appointment. I'll go with you."

He hesitated before deciding it wasn't worth an argument. He made the appointment.

* * *

Eames sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office, leafing through a magazine without seeing any of its contents. Her mind was focused on Goren as she tried to find something that would break through the barrier he had erected around himself. The only thing she had been able to get from him was that he didn't want her to leave. But she had no idea why, and that made her wonder if he knew. She had her doubts. 

When he came out of the exam room, he was escorted by a pretty redheaded woman in a white lab coat. She held her hand out to Eames. "Kathleen Monahan."

Eames accepted her hand. "Alex Eames."

Her eyes darted toward Goren, who looked angry. _That's an improvement from apathy_, she mused.

"You are staying with him?"

"Until I go back to New York, yes."

"When will that be?"

She glanced at him again. Anger seemed to have given way to apprehension, still an improvement. "I haven't decided," she answered, noting that his anxiety did not ease with that reply.

"Make sure he keeps that shoulder immobile. If the bleeding continues, I'll have to send him to a surgeon." She looked at Goren. "Five days, detective. Cheryl will make the appointment."

The doctor left the waiting area and, when Goren made no move toward the receptionist, Eames went to the desk and made his appointment. As they headed for the car, she said, "I'm not going to keep holding your hand, Goren. I want you to assume responsibility for yourself again."

"Since I do such a bang-up job at it?"

She frowned. "Has your mother's death really hit you this hard?"

"Her death? No. But it was a catalyst."

_A catalyst,_ he reflected. That was a good word. His mother's lymphoma had been the loose thread in his life that, once pulled, caused the rest of it to unravel. He took the chance and looked at Eames, his gut clenching with regret at the sight of the bruise on her cheek. Why was she there? What the hell made her come all the way to California and why was she staying? His life wasn't perfect, but when had it ever been? She traveled across the country for whatever reason, but when she went home, she was going to pull the rug out from under him again, and he had no clue how to prepare himself for that.


	6. A Step in the Right Direction

The ride from the doctor's office was a quiet one, with one stop at a nearby pharmacy. Eames was glad Dr. Monahan had noticed his need for better pain control. She was certain he would not have brought it up. She coerced him into taking a dose right after she filled the prescription, and she got the feeling he complied just to shut her up, which was fine with her. The bottom line was he did what she asked him to, and that was something, at least.

By the time they got back to his apartment, it was late afternoon and she got ready to make dinner while he laid down on the couch. She didn't like how pale he was or the blood that continued to seep through his dressing, and she knew the medicine had a strong effect on him because of his condition. She was not feeling any better about his physical or mental state than she had when she arrived.

Before she started dinner, she checked on him, not surprised to find him asleep. As she started back to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. She answered the door before another ring of the bell could wake him. Lou Fisher grinned at her, a look of relief on his face. "You're still here," he observed.

"You thought I wouldn't be?"

As she stepped aside to allow him entry, he said, "Goren has a tendency to push people away."

"It's all right, captain. I push back."

He laughed quietly. He liked this woman. "How is he doing?"

She let out a heavy breath. "Not great, but he saw the doctor this afternoon."

"How did you manage that?"

She smiled. "I didn't give him a choice."

"I wish I had known to call you sooner."

She looked toward the couch. "So do I."

With a sigh, Fisher asked, "What did the doctor say?"

"He's not healing well. She might have to send him to a surgeon. Compliance has always been an issue for him. He's never been good at accepting authority, medical or otherwise."

"So I've noticed. I have to take a military line with him sometimes."

"That goes back to his army days. That was a major turning point in his life."

Fisher shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know nothing about his life, Detective Eames."

If Goren hadn't seen fit to share his background with his captain, she decided it was not her place to elaborate. "There is a reason he is the way he is, captain. It's not my place to say more, but trust me, he isn't always as unstable as he appears. He is a master at hiding from the world."

"I've gathered that." He looked toward the couch, then back at Eames. "I won't keep you. I just wanted to check on him, but I can see he is in excellent hands. Keep me informed, if you would, and I won't trouble you any more."

"It's no trouble, Captain Fisher. I'm glad there is someone who gives a damn about him out here."

"He's a headache, but he's an excellent cop. And I do like him."

She nodded. "I can see that. I'll be in touch."

He turned to the door. "Thank you. It takes a lot off my mind, knowing you're here."

"I understand that. Good night, captain."

"Good night, Detective Eames."

She closed the door and looked at Goren. "You _are_ a headache," she said softly. "But you've always been worth it."

She returned to the kitchen and fixed dinner, a combination of his untouched meal from the night before with enough additional pasta and vegetables to make a meal for two. She gave him the greater portion of the chicken, which she had cut up and mixed into the pasta. After setting the plates on the table, she walked to the couch and leaned over the back of it. She watched him for a few moments, then reached toward him and gently stroked his cheek. Unaccustomed to being touched, he stirred, opening his eyes to look at her as she withdrew her hand. "Dinner's ready," she said quietly, her voice soft for the moment.

His eyes swept her face slowly. Again he raised a hand toward her, but this time, he didn't stop. His fingers lightly grazed the bruise on her cheek. It was the first time he'd touched her since she'd arrived. She could feel a tremor in his touch, but she was uncertain if it was of physical or emotional origin. His eyes gave nothing away and he remained silent. She waited until he dropped his hand from her cheek and sat up, groaning softly as he gripped his shoulder with his other hand. She began to reach for him, then changed her mind and straightened away from the couch. With a soft sigh, she walked back to the kitchen, bringing two coffee cups to the table as he sat down.

He looked at his plate and she prepared herself to cajole him into eating again, surprised when he picked up his fork without a word of encouragement from her. They ate once again in silence. She was getting tired of the sound of her own voice being the only one to fill the apartment. Her mind was still busy trying to find a way to draw him out, so she was distracted.

Goren ate slowly, knowing if he didn't he was going to get sick. The medicine, taken without food, had upset his stomach, but more than that, he had been eating sporadically, and not always food that was good for him. His body was rebelling against him, and he couldn't quite blame it. On top of everything else, the stress of having Eames around was getting to him. It wasn't that he was not pleased to see her, because he was. But he couldn't figure out why she was there, and the fact that she wouldn't tell him was bothering him. He didn't want to drive her away again. So he swallowed anything he wanted to tell her, and for the most part, kept silent. He had no idea where he stood with her any more, and that caused him more stress than anything else.

He had once thought that if he got away from New York, from Eames and everything that reminded him of her, he would be all right. He could not have been more wrong. Even three thousand miles away, in a place he had never been with her, there were reminders popping up on a daily basis. A rose in bloom, the song of a bird in the morning, the quiet patter of rain against a window, the rustle of a gentle breeze through the trees...

She looked up when he sighed. "Are you all right?"

He bit his lip and thought about his answer before he said, "It's been a long time since I've been all right, Eames. I don't know what that feels like any more."

"And who's fault is that?"

"I know. It's mine. I wasn't casting blame. I just answered your question."

Was it possible he was finally in a mood to actually talk to her? She ventured tentatively into a conversation, hoping she would not be the only participant. "What have you been doing, other than narcotics work?"

"Not much. You?"

She wondered if he was just being polite as she searched for something that would spark his interest without making him feel bad. "Aside from work, not a lot. Reggie and Aaron took Jake to Disney World last spring." She didn't mention that she had gone along as well, her sister's attempt to draw her out of the funk she settled into after he left.

He had always liked her nephew, and he knew how close she was to the little boy. Jake was always a good subject to draw her attention away from him. "How is he?"

"He's good. Getting big. He asks for you, you know."

His eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really?"

"Really. Remember when we took him to the zoo?"

That had been a few months before his mother died, when they were working on their relationship, before everything fell apart. He nodded. "I remember."

"He had fun with you. We both did." She left it at that. No sense rubbing salt in an open wound, for either of them. "Mike Logan misses you, too. He wanted me to tell you that."

He was surprised to find that he missed Logan, too. He had thought that Eames was the only one he was leaving behind, but in cutting himself off from the past, he'd left behind more people than he realized. But it was the price he paid for starting over. "He's your partner now."

She wondered if he meant for it to sound like an accusation. She decided to let it slide. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"I talked to him."

She frowned. "When?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember."

"He never told me."

"I asked him not to."

Her frown deepened. Wait until she got home; Logan was dog meat. Goren looked up and read her dark look. "Don't take it out on him, Eames."

"He could have told me."

"I'm glad he didn't. I can trust him."

Her anger increased. "And what does that matter? You have no intention of coming back to New York."

"I never said that," he shot back.

The look on his face told her he had not meant to say that. His eyes immediately diverted to his plate and she stared at him, her anger evaporating as she felt hope for the first time that she might possibly have a chance to reach him. She decided it best to let that one slide, too. She had to take everything slowly, like returning a balanced diet to his body. His emotional state was even more fragile. So she opted to see just how much of a normal life he had tried to create for himself. "So, have you been seeing anyone?"

He wondered what she was getting at now. Why would she be interested in that? "Not seriously."

His answer brought forth a complex array of emotions in her, which made her uncomfortable, but she pressed on. "What's her name?"

"It doesn't matter. She...is incidental."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to hear that."

"She knows it."

That comment annoyed her, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she, too, felt incidental to his life. She lost focus of her intent to be cautious. "Some things just don't change, do they?"

He frowned at that. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"When was the last time someone actually meant something to you, besides your mother?"

He didn't understand the bitterness in her voice, and he became annoyed, too. "You mean since you?" he snapped.

His irritation fueled her own and she snapped back at him before she could stop herself. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever meant anything at all to you."

"How can you say that?"

"It's easy. I use my words, which is more than you have been doing...more than you have ever done."

They faced off across the table and she saw a fire in his eyes that had been long gone. But when it began to fade, she found herself desperate to keep it there, even if it was anger that was responsible for it. So she goaded him with something she knew would get a rise out of him. "So since she is incidental, does that mean you've moved on and found a new fuck buddy?"

For the first time he reacted as she predicted he would, at least initially. The anger that had begun to fade flared anew in his eyes and he opened his mouth to reply, but something stopped him, and the look in his eyes changed. She saw regret replace the anger, and her own anger gave way to a similar feeling. He looked at his plate, remembering the session with Skoda, their last session, during which she had accused him of that. Maybe it was true in his present life, but with her, it never had been. He had done a miserable job of showing her that, of letting her know how much she meant to him. But he had been such an emotional wreck at the time, and he hadn't had it in him to show anyone much of anything, except anger and indifference. He wasn't doing much better now. He pushed his fork through the remaining food on his plate, but he didn't have the stomach for any more food. Setting the fork down, he said, "Thank you for dinner."

He got up from the table and returned to the living room. She swore at herself, wondering if she had pushed too hard. She let him go, but just for the moment. Pleased that he had eaten three-fourths of his dinner before she'd triggered his withdrawal, she cleared the table and washed the dishes to give herself time to regroup. Should she keep pushing or back off? It was not an easy decision to make and she feared choosing the wrong option.

When she turned from the sink, he was standing in the doorway. She looked at him expectantly and waited. When he remained there, silent, she made her decision. Since she had already stuck her stick in the tiger's cage, she might as well go for broke and keep poking. "Looking for a beer?" she asked, her voice hard once more.

"Uh, no. I wanted to apologize."

"Some things never change."

He frowned. "You are deliberately antagonizing me. Why?"

She folded her arms over her chest. "Because anger is better than apathy."

He started to answer, but stopped, chewing on his lower lip as he watched her. Then he looked away, searching for the words to mollify her anger. "You were never a...I mean..." He let out a heavy breath, laced with resignation. "You were always more to me than you thought you were. I'm sorry I didn't let you see that. You are right, Eames." He waved his hand in a sweeping motion, but still did not look at her. "Everything my life has become, I've done to myself, and I have no one else to blame. I accept that. I have driven away everyone who was ever important to me, but I don't know how to fix it. I am sorry."

She watched him walk away, and she followed him. She wasn't sure what she felt or how to respond to him, but she had to do something. He was talking, and she was not going to allow him to retreat back into silence or slide back into despair. She had to fan the spark of emotion, to rekindle the flame that was missing from his life. "Do you want to?"

He turned before he got to the couch. "Do I want to what?"

"Fix the things that are wrong with your life."

He studied her. "I don't think it can be fixed."

"You have never even tried. Are you willing to work on it?"

She decided she had to keep pushing, and she wanted desperately for him to push back. She was looking for anything from him. At this point, even an argument would be an improvement. She sensed his impending withdrawal and knew she had to get drastic if she wanted to prevent it. The last time she was in this situation, she had let him go, afraid of pushing him too far and driving him away. That had backfired in her face, and now she knew better. Now, she had nothing to lose. She had lost him once and she wasn't going to let that happen again, if there was anything she could possibly do to stop it. Her life could not get any worse than it was without him in it. She advanced on him, stopping directly in front of him. "Answer me," she demanded. "Do you want to fix your life?"

He stared at her, uncertain as he always was in the face of her anger. She remained where she was, hands on her hips, her chin jutting at him defiantly. "I'm waiting."

His eyes strayed over her face, into the fire that blazed in her eyes, and his gut suddenly heaved. He stepped back, turned and left the room.

She watched as he went into the bathroom and stood there, puzzled. This was new. She crossed her arms over her chest again and waited.

He splashed cold water over his face and through his hair. He had managed to swallow his sudden nausea and prevent himself from being sick, but it had been close. He pulled off his shirt and removed his arm from the immobilizer that Dr. Monahan had put him in. His shoulder was, once again, saturated with blood. His first thought was that Eames was not going to be happy to see that. _Eames..._ the fire in her eyes had ignited a fire in him and that was entirely unexpected. He had thought himself incapable of feeling that way any more. Did he want to fix his life? Hell, yes. But was it still salvageable? And how did he tell her was willing to try? _Just say the words,_ her voice sounded in his head. _Just say the words._

He returned to the living room. She was still angry, and he couldn't blame her for that. But when she saw his shoulder, her anger evaporated. She approached him without hesitation, reaching out to grab his arm and steer him toward the couch. "Did Dr. Monahan change that dressing?"

"Yes. She said the bleeding might get a little worse because she messed with it."

He sat down and watched her peel the dressing from the wound. "I, um...I..." He groaned and gasped when air breezed over the open wound, dropping his head back and swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. Everything got dark and when the lights came back on she was hanging up the phone. His shoulder had a fresh dressing on it and the immobilizer was back in place. "Eames...?"

"Dr, Monahan wants to see you first thing in the morning. Prepare yourself for a visit to a surgeon."

"No... I'll be fine."

"If you listen to me and follow the doctor's orders, yes, you will. If you get pig-headed...well, that's just not an option any more."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked again.

Without answering him, she got him a double dose of the pain medicine, the maximum the doctor said he could take. She handed him the two pills with a glass of water and dropped down into the recliner, shaking her head. He was going to push the issue until she answered him, but this was something she wanted him to figure out for himself. "You can read people like a road map. Why is it that you get so lost with those closest to you?"

He didn't reply immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. "The people I read, I don't care about. You...there are parts of you I have never been able to read. My emotions get tangled up in it, and that's what causes the problem. So I just don't try."

If he was going to be stubborn, so would she. "What emotions?"

Was she being serious or was she pointing out in her succinct way that he had been devoid of emotion for too long now? He opted to believe the former and answered, "The ones that overwhelm me."

There weren't many emotions that overwhelmed him, she knew, so she chose the most powerful options, ones that, together, brought to her mind the unwelcome person of Nicole Wallace. She chased away the reminder and said, "Love? Or hate?"

"Sometimes both."

She hadn't expected that. "Both? So you love me...and you hate me?"

"No. I didn't mean you. But it is the love that blindsides me and keeps me from getting into your head. I never tried to get into your head. It was your heart I was more interested in."

"So what happened? What made you stop loving me?"

Had he been in better shape, she knew that question would have sent him pacing. But all he was able to manage was a restless shifting where he sat. He always hated when she made him face himself. His breathing became staggered and he had to force himself to calm. "Stop loving you...?" He was honestly baffled. "God, Eames, you are the one person in the world I never stopped loving."

"Then I don't understand, Bobby. What was this last year all about? You ran away, you waited eight months to call me and then never called again. I had no idea where you were or how you were...or even if you were alive..."

"And you never tried to find out," he interrupted, quiet accusation in his tone.

White hot fury came bubbling from deep inside her. "Is that what it was all about? You wanted me to come running after you?"

"What? No! I never expected that!"

Her anger did not calm. "Then what were you thinking?"

"I guess I wasn't. My only intent was to let you go, Eames. You would never have moved on if I stayed around, and I couldn't move on either. We...were over."

The last three words broke through to her. Maybe it was the grief he was able to pack into the words, or what the words really meant. They were over...as lovers, as partners, as friends. She blinked back tears, angry that they were there at all. "And how did that come to be? How did it end, Bobby? What destroyed us?"

He lowered his head and she couldn't see any part of his face. "I did. You...tried...to keep us together, to make us work again...but I wouldn't let it happen."

"And I never understood why."

He shrugged. "Neither did I. I just got it in my head that I was no good for you, that I had to let you go so you could...recover."

"Recover?" Her laugh was bitter, and it came out only because she refused to let him see her cry. "I never recovered."

He lifted his head and looked at her. "I was poison to your life."

"That was all in your head. Everything blew apart because you chose to let it. You stopped caring."

"In my head..." he repeated slowly. He shook his head and tapped a finger against his temple. "Trust me when I say that's one place you never want to go. It's not a very good place to be."

"I don't doubt that. But you never let me make the choice."

"Choice?"

"Yes. How well I wanted to know you was _my_ choice, and you took it away from me. I never forgave you for that." She sighed. "It's not guilt or curiosity that drives me, Goren. I realize that's hard for you to comprehend. But is it really so difficult for you to understand that I care about you?" She watched his face, and she saw that it was. She had no idea what to do with this man. "You told me that I went wrong, falling in love with you. I disagree. I went wrong because I never could fall _out_ of love with you. Good night, Bobby."

She got up and walked down the hall to the bedroom, leaving him to his thoughts and whatever he felt he had to do in order to make peace with that.


	7. A Taste of the Truth

Eames woke during the night, and she found herself unable to return to sleep. She was worried. She had sworn he would not do this to her, but she couldn't help it. Sometimes the dictates of your heart got the better of you. She got up and left the room. The blue flicker of the television told her he probably wasn't sleeping. She stopped at the end of the hallway and looked at him.

Sensing she was there, he looked toward her. "Did I wake you? I had the volume down..."

"It wasn't the TV, but yes, you woke me...indirectly."

"You were worried. I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry, dammit. It doesn't change anything, so stop saying it."

"I'm...uh..." He trailed off and dropped his chin to his chest.

She approached him and sat beside him on the couch. "Your shoulder woke you?"

"Uh...partly." He looked at her. "I...never make it through the night."

She was surprised by his willingness to talk to her, but he was always more receptive to her at night, when they were alone, even before she had ever shared a bed with him. At night, he'd always relaxed, away from the squad room and the demands of their job. His guard dropped as far as he ever let it once the sun was gone. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the dark that allowed him to open up a little more. She reached out and laid a tentative hand against his arm. "Did you take your medicine?"

He nodded, averting his eyes. "About ten minutes ago, with a sandwich."

"You ate? Grilled cheese?"

She remembered that he liked grilled cheese...but then again...seven years..."Yes. I get sick if I take it on an empty stomach."

"I'm glad you ate something."

He looked back toward her. "You care."

"Yes, I do."

"That's why you're here."

Sensing progress, she nodded. "Yes."

"But it's not why you stay."

He was thinking now, trying to understand, and she wanted to encourage him. This was what she had been pushing him toward. "You don't think so? Then enlighten me."

"You already know. It's where you went wrong, Eames."

She knew he was fully aware that she did not feel she was wrong to love him, but she didn't point that out. "Because I love you."

"Do you regret that?"

"I thought I did, yes. But only because it hurt so damn much, and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. I just had this...hole inside me that was never going to get filled. It was worse than when Joe died."

He frowned. "Why is that?"

"Because Joe never meant to go. I still miss him, and I will always love him, but I had closure. I got to say good-bye to him, as hard as it was to do that. You...you left intentionally, and you never gave me the chance to say good-bye, never gave me closure. So I have had this raw, open wound to deal with deep inside me. Now you know. Feel better?"

He looked away. "No. But if I apologize..."

"I will smack you. You're not sorry, Bobby. It was a choice you made, one you stood by. You're not sorry for that or you would have come home."

"It's not that simple."

"Bullshit. Tell me your pride kept you away."

He snorted. "I have no pride, Eames. My mother stripped me of that when I was little."

"I don't understand you. This never had to happen, Bobby. All you ever had to do was talk to me."

"You mean burden you. I couldn't do that, and you made no attempt to understand that. You preferred to turn your back on me rather than try to understand me. After my mother died, and everything between us fell apart...I hit rock bottom and there was no reason for me to fight my way back up. Without you, I had nothing. I was nothing."

"Only because you let yourself believe that." She really didn't want to argue with him. They had done enough of that at the end of their relationship. "So what do we do now?"

"I don't know."

She moved a little closer and leaned forward, taking his glass from the coffee table. "It's water," he assured her.

She gave him a brief smile and took a drink, setting it back on the table. He looked disappointed. "You didn't believe me?"

"I did. I was thirsty."

She watched the medicine catching up with him and she rose from the couch. "Lay down and go back to sleep. You have an eight o'clock appointment."

He couldn't come up with an argument as she walked across the living room. "Good night, Bobby."

She switched off the television, listening to the soft groan of pain he couldn't fully suppress as he laid back on the couch. She moved toward the hallway. Already half-asleep, he murmured, "Good night, Alex."

As she snuggled down into his bed, she pulled the comforter around her and she smiled. It had been nearly two years since he'd said her name with deep affection untainted by anger and resentment. It had been far too long since she'd felt that he loved her, and now it was coming back to her. He was coming back to her.

* * *

Kathleen Monahan shook her head. "Something isn't right, detective. I want you to see Dr. Conklin as soon as he can get you in." 

"Doctor..." he began.

But Eames cut him off. "Just tell us where his office is."

He shot an annoyed glare at her but she ignored him, waiting for the doctor. She tore a sheet off the pad she had been writing on and handed it to Eames. "Down the hall. Suite 200, near the elevators."

Eames nodded and Monahan gave her a look of gratitude. She wished this woman had been there when she was arguing with Goren about staying in the hospital. Then he wouldn't be in this situation."Come on," Eames motioned to him.

He hesitated, but finally followed her, looking annoyed. Monahan smiled as she wrote in his chart, closed the folder and left the exam room to see her next patient.

* * *

Trevor Conklin studied the x-ray on the screen in front of him. He pointed to an opaque spot on the film. "That is a bullet fragment. I'll bet a month's pay that it has nicked a blood vessel." 

"Why hasn't it healed over?" Eames asked.

"My guess is that the damage is serious enough that the vessel pressure is keeping it open."

Goren knew what that meant, and he didn't like it. "What are the options?" he asked. "Any chance it'll still heal on its own?"

"At this point, it's unlikely. Your best option is surgical repair."

"Just what does that mean?"

"I'll go in and..."

"I know that," he snapped impatiently. "I mean for recovery, my mobility."

"Once I seal off the bleeder and remove the fragment, you should heal quickly, provided you get enough rest and proper nutrition. A couple of weeks and you'll be back on the job."

"Suppose I opt to not have the surgery?"

He raised a hand, sensing her upcoming objection, and waited for the doctor's reply. She also waited for the doctor before saying anything. Conklin sighed and twisted his pen in his hands. "You'll continue to bleed, detective."

"It won't heal on its own?"

"Not before you start to feel the blood loss."

Eames finally spoke. "So he'll collapse and you can fix it then."

Conklin nodded. "Yes, but by then there could be irreparable damage to the shoulder, or that fragment can shift and cause even bigger problems. I can't stress enough the importance of getting this taken care of right away."

"Right away when?" she asked.

"This afternoon, if I can book an OR."

She nodded, shifting her eyes toward Goren, daring him to challenge her. "Do it," she said firmly.

Conklin looked at Goren, who was glaring at Eames. After a moment, he nodded, fully aware that the doctor was waiting for his consent. Conklin left the room and Goren leaned toward Eames. "You had no right..."

"Shut up," she growled. "I really don't give a damn if you think I have a right or not. You haven't been inclined to take proper care of yourself lately, so I am going to see that you do it now. If you don't like it, tell me to go home."

He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words to tell her to do something he didn't want her to do. He said nothing and slumped back against the wall. "I thought so," she said with finality.

Conklin was back ten minutes later. He sat down and began to write on a paper he'd brought with him. "Six o'clock," he said absently as he wrote. When he was through, he handed the paper to Goren. "Head over to the hospital and get yourself admitted and prepped. Nothing to eat or drink, and I'll see you between four and five. We might be able to get in a little sooner, depending on how the case before us goes."

Goren took the paper, angry. He slid off the exam table, grabbed his jacket and left the room. Eames said, "He's a little moody."

"I'll bet that shoulder hurts like hell."

She nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Conklin."

"Will you be there?"

"He may not be happy about it but, yes, I'll be there."

Conklin looked relieved. "See you then."

Goren was waiting impatiently by the clinic door for her. She followed him into the hall and said, "Don't start with me."

"It's my shoulder," he grouched.

"Do you want me to go back in and tell him never mind?"

"No. It's done."

"It can still be undone."

"Forget it. Let's just get this over with."

He jabbed the down button at the elevators, and she smiled behind his back. His apathy was gone, and that made her happy. She was getting to him, whether he wanted her to or not.

* * *

They didn't talk much over the course of the day. She knew he was annoyed and she let him stew. It was good to see some emotion in him. She really didn't care if he wanted to get this done or not. It was enough for her that he consented to it because she wanted him to get it done, because it was the best thing for him. Somehow, she was regaining the upper hand in their relationship and she wasn't going to debate it. Anticipating a long wait, she'd gotten herself a book to read, and a book of crossword puzzles for him, which he settled into, glad to not have to interact with her. He was angry and he didn't particularly want to take it out on her. His temper had gotten him in enough trouble over the last year. She was feeling better, even if he wasn't talking to her. That spark of emotion she had wanted to kindle was still smoldering. All she had to do was wait for it to ignite. 

As the afternoon passed, he simmered, until a nurse came in to get him ready for surgery. It didn't take long for her to prepare him. She had him put on a pair of surgical scrub pants instead of a hospital gown because he needed to be bare-chested. Eames didn't object to that. She had always liked to watch him shirtless, and she welcomed her memories as she watched him troll around the room restlessly. When they came in for the final preparations, she could tell the nurse thought he was anxious about the surgery. It was a logical conclusion, even if it wasn't accurate. It wasn't the impending surgery that had him restless; it was her.

The nurse made him sit on the bed as she started the IV in the back of his hand, and then she had him lay back as she injected the contents of a syringe into the line. "This will help you to relax."

"I'm fine," he replied irritably.

The nurse just gave him a smile, finished the injection and raised the side of the bed. "They'll be in for you soon."

Eames moved to sit by the bed. "I'll be here when you wake up," she promised, her voice soft.

Her gentle tone found its way past his irritation and he felt better. He looked at her as the sedative hit him. Reaching toward her, he stopped short of touching her. He was offering her a chance to let him know he had not completely destroyed their relationship, a chance to reassure them both that there could possibly be something left to rebuild on. She took his hand without hesitating. Raising her hand to his mouth, he gave it a soft kiss before the medicine overtook him completely and he drifted off. Nothing he had said or done reassured her as much as that simple gesture of affection. He knew she cared, and now she knew that he did, too. They had a second chance.

When they came to take him to surgery, she placed his hand back on the bed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I love you," she whispered into his ear before she straightened away from the bed and stepped out of the way.

* * *

Eames spent three restless hours in the surgical waiting room before Conklin came out to talk to her. "He's fine," the surgeon assured her. "There was more damage than I had anticipated, and the fragment did shift again. But I got it out and everything has been taken care of. He needs to still use the immobilizer for the next week or so. He'll be in recovery for about an hour before they take him back to his room. I'll be by first thing in the morning." 

"Thank you, Dr. Conklin."

A half hour later they were looking for her. Apparently, when he woke from the anesthesia, Goren was agitated, and they couldn't get him to calm down without sedation, which they were reluctant to use. Placing a call to Conklin, he had suggested they bring Eames back to deal with him, which they did. As Eames walked with the nurse across the recovery room, she heard a shout from the general direction they were headed, and three orderlies ran past them before they reached Goren's bed.

The orderlies were holding him down and a nurse was yelling for them to be careful of his shoulder. Goren was struggling. Eames was furious. "Let him go!"

"He's going to hurt someone," one of the orderlies insisted.

Knowing how much he hated being restrained, Eames knew he would never calm down if they continued to pin him to the stretcher. "I _said_ let him go."

The two nurses backed her up and the orderlies stepped away. As soon as he was released, Goren stopped struggling, but he was still clearly agitated. Eames stepped up to his bedside and spoke to him. "Bobby, it's me. Calm down."

His head turned toward her voice and he sought her out. "Eames..." he murmured.

She grasped his hand. "I'm right here. You need to settle down and stop upsetting the nurses."

His face clouded in confusion. "I just...I couldn't...find you," he replied.

"I was waiting, just like I promised."

"No...you were gone..."

Her fingers brushed across his lips, silencing him. "Shh...I am going to stay right here. Now relax."

"P-Promise?"

"Yes. I promise."

He settled back as his agitation eased and he relaxed. An orderly brought her a chair as the anesthesia in his system overtook him again. She stayed by his side. When he woke again, about fifteen minutes later, the first thing he did was look for her. She rose from the chair and took his hand again. "How do you feel?"

Struggling to focus, he squeezed her hand. "It...h-hurts," he groaned.

She looked at the recovery nurse, who didn't hesitate to inject something into his IV line. "That will help," she said.

Eames nodded a thank you and turned her attention back to Goren. His eyes lost the little focus they'd had and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Don't fight it," she encouraged.

Barely coherent, he murmured, "Don't...go..."

"Not a chance," she replied, gripping his hand more firmly. She looked at the nurse, who smiled at her. Biting her lip, she looked back at him. His guard was down, his inhibitions gone. He wanted her close and would panic if he woke and she wasn't there. He was swinging between extremes and she wondered where he was going to settle when he was coherent once again. Did she dare raise her hopes that he would still want her when he returned to his senses? _Hope, yes...but prepare yourself for more rejection,_ she warned herself. If he was anything, it was unpredictable, especially now.

Forty-five minutes later, they returned him to his room and she made herself comfortable in the chair beside his bed, waiting for the anesthesia to wear off so he could wake up. Every fifteen minutes a nurse came in to check his vitals and reassure her. She fell asleep waiting.

* * *

The light caress of a gentle touch woke her. Turning her head, she looked at him as he withdrew his hand. She looked into eyes bright with pain and remorse, and she knew he was remembering. "Tell me what you're thinking," she said, her voice more gentle than it had been since they'd reunited. 

He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to stir up old feelings long gone. He had not intended to wake her. She sat up and stretched, then leaned toward him. "Are you still insistent on shutting me out?"

"I've missed you," he said suddenly, surprising her.

She stoodand stepped up to the bed, slipping her hand into his. "Do you mean that?"

His mouth tensed, and he wondered if he should have told her that, but he nodded. It was the truth. She reached out and touched his cheek. "You could have called me any time."

He shook his head slowly. "I couldn't even think about you without hurting more than I ever have before. That's why it took me so long to call...and even then...it was too hard..."

He trailed off and looked away, raising his hand to his shoulder and rubbing it. Grabbing his hand, she drew it away from the injury and interlaced her fingers with his. "Don't do that."

His eyes strayed to their hands, then back to her face. She expected him to parrot her words back at her, but he didn't. He settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes, tightening his grip around her hand. "I was thinking," he said softly, answering her earlier question. "That I still..." He swallowed and took a deep breath. "I still love you."

She was too surprised to reply, and by the time she recovered, his grip had loosened and he was asleep. _I still love you..._

She trailed her fingers along his cheek. She still loved him, too, for all the pain it had caused her. "Damn you," she whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I love you, too, you jackass."

She spent the night in the chair beside his bed, but she did not sleep well.


	8. A Flicker of Hope

When Goren woke, he immediately looked for Eames. When he didn't see her, his first inclination was to convince himself he had driven her off again, and with that thought came a fleeting sense of panic. But then he got past the blurriness of mind the anesthesia left him with and he actually looked around him. A cup of coffee on the tray table, an open book turned upside down on the chair, her purse under the edge of the chair... She was still there. He relaxed and leaned back into the pillows, allowing himself to feel the extent of the pain in his shoulder.

The door opened and a nurse came into the room, followed by Dr. Conklin and Eames. The nurse studied the monitor above the bed while Conklin examined the bandages on his shoulder. Eames hung back to let them work, but she caught and held his gaze. Conklin addressed him. "We knew you were awake when your pulse rate increased," he said with a brief smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm somewhere I don't want to be," he complained.

"Get used to it. This is going to be home for the next few days, until you can manage your pain and I am satisfied that you'll do all right at home."

"I'll do fine at home."

Eames stepped in. "You can go home when Dr. Conklin releases you, Goren. Until then, we are staying here and you are going to behave."

He stared at her. "We?"

"Why am I here? This isn't a pleasure trip for me. Do you want me to leave?"

"N-No."

She looked at Conklin. "He'll behave, Dr. Conklin."

Conklin smiled and looked at Goren. "I'd behave, too, if I had someone like her standing over me with an attitude like that."

"Attitude, nothing," Goren answered. "She carries a gun."

She smiled at him. "I don't need my gun to handle you, big guy."

His mouth moved but he didn't quite turn it into a smile. "No, you don't," he agreed.

She studied him more closely, and it disturbed her that his eyes were still empty of everything except pain. He had not smiled at her since she arrived, and she missed that smile. Determined, she set her mind to the task of restoring the spark, and the smile, to his soul.

Conklin said, "I see that you are in good hands, detective. Give me two days. If you are able to manage your pain with oral medication, I'll let you go home, as long as Alex is with you. Deal?"

"That's up to her. If she stays, I'll consider it."

Conklin looked at her and she nodded. They had been discussing her plans for the next week or so when Goren's heart rate had increased and they had come to check on him. She wasn't planning on leaving him until she knew for certain he was all right...or he decided to return to New York with her. She planned to try convincing him to come home.

The doctor left the room with the nurse, and Eames turned to her former partner. She held her hand out to him, giving him the opportunity to take it or not. He reached his hand toward her, lightly caressing her palm with his fingertips. She felt an unexpected surge of heat at the contact and almost gasped. She closed her hand suddenly, causing him to turn his attention from her hand to her face, concerned. She forced herself to open her hand again, and she waited. His gaze moved from her face to her hand and back. Again, he reached forward tentatively. His fingertips brushed hers but then his hand fell away. His eyes also diverted from her to his lap.

She stepped closer to the head of the bed. He had his chance. It was time for her to become a little more assertive. If she waited for him she would grow old before her time. Reaching out, she touched him, caressing the sensitive skin under his wrist lightly. He looked up again, but did not pull his hand away. Her fingers continued up his arm to his elbow and his eyes came to rest on her face. She met and held his gaze, letting him see the storm of emotions cascading through her. He needed to see what she was feeling, and she was determined not to close herself off to him. She had done that once, in response to his withdrawal, and look where it got them.

He bit his lower lip and closed his fingers around her elbow, gently squeezing. He didn't look away, and she was surprised to see a tear in his eye. Reaching her other hand toward him, she caught the tear on her finger when it spilled onto his cheek. When he closed his eyes, she leaned in closer and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His fingers tightened reflexively around her elbow and he drew in an uneven breath, searching for equilibrium and not finding it. His life had spiraled so far out of control, he had no idea how to recover...if he ever could. She did not pull away, and when she spoke, her voice held a tremor that disturbed him. "I'm not giving up on you. Don't you quit on me."

She had arrived when he was on the verge of doing just that. Now...he was beginning to back away from the edge he had so precariously perched himself on. She had a chance to save him from himself, but she would have only one. He remained uncertain, but she knew that one chance was all she would need.

* * *

The doctors were apprehensive about releasing Goren, but Eames seemed to know exactly how to handle him. When he started getting argumentative, she could silence him with a look. When he had a notion to be difficult, she straightened him out quickly, and he listened to her. 

Her hard line with him backfired on her only once. He started to argue with Dr. Monahan and Eames got fed up with his attitude toward the doctor. She had never known him to be that way, and she planned to stop it right then. When he turned his temper on her, snapping angrily, she had replied without thinking, telling him that if he said 'no' one more time, she was leaving.

Monahan had never seen panic in the tough cop's eyes before, and he took Eames at her word. He didn't speak, to anyone, for three days. Not a single word. When Monahan and Conklin both expressed concern, Eames dismissed it, assuring them that he was just being passive aggressive. And perhaps he was, but he figured if he didn't speak, he couldn't say the wrong thing. That one time, because she had instigated it, she let him get away with it.

By the time they released him into her care and she took him to his apartment, he was beginning to speak again, but only to her. She was still worried, however. She had been with him for most of a week, and he still had not smiled at her. She had managed to get emotional reactions from him, but they were spurred by anger or annoyance. It was better than nothing, but she was ready for more...and so was he, whether he knew it or not.

* * *

Three days after his discharge, Goren continued to sleep on the couch, despite all of Eames' protests that he would be more comfortable in the bed. He wasn't worried about his comfort; he was concerned about hers. That both annoyed and reassured her, and she wasn't quite sure how to handle it. He wasn't sleeping well on the couch, and that was going to hinder his recovery, but she could not convince him to trade sleeping places with her.

Fully awake and alert, she knew he was impossible to manipulate, and she didn't want to keep threatening to leave. She hated seeing that look in his eyes when he thought she might actually go before he was ready for her to leave. If she was lucky, she knew, he would never want her to leave. That was the state she was pushing him toward. He had once felt that way, so she knew it was in him. She just had to help him find it again.

She decided that there was nothing left to her but to play dirty. She would deal with the fall out tomorrow. At least she would have time to prepare. So after dinner, she gave him a double dose of his pain killer and she watched him. She knew it took about thirty minutes to begin working, and about forty-five minutes before it overwhelmed him and he slept. She had a fifteen minute window to convince him to sleep in his bed. She knew that if he would sleep in the bed, he was likely to sleep all night, which seemed to be as rare now as it had been when they were partners. But right now, it was what he needed.

Once they settled on the couch and he found a channel he thought she would like—she had to admit, he knew her well; she loved Cary Grant—she shifted her position every several minutes, inching herself closer and closer to his side of the couch. She knew he was paying attention every time she moved, but he gave no indication that he suspected anything. By the time the medicine began working on him, she was close to his side. Reaching toward him, she touched his hand. He offered no objection, allowing her to hold his hand. When his head began to droop toward his chest, she gently coaxed him to his feet. Half out of it, he let her guide him through the apartment. She didn't have to explain a thing, relieved that he didn't ask.

Keeping her voice soft and almost seductive, she got him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Now it was time for the real test. If he recovered his senses enough, he would return to the couch, annoyed and possibly angry. She had to proceed slowly and carefully.

Standing directly in front of him, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her hands. "What...are you doing?" he asked, his voice quiet and curious.

"Just helping you get ready for bed."

"You...remember...you used to..." he trailed off, disturbed by the fact that he had to use the past tense.

She knew the medicine had a tendency to lower inhibitions, and taking advantage of that was no way to win him back. But it was exactly the way to get him to sleep in his bed.

"I remember," she answered as she slid his shirt off his left shoulder and let it slip off her fingers to the floor.

When her fingers brushed his skin, he closed his eyes, and he had a very hard time opening them again. "Eames..."

"Shhh," she whispered, rested the tips of her fingers over his lips.

There was a time once when that would have led to twenty minutes of playing...fingers, lips, tongues...she fought to chase the memory away. Oh, how much she had missed him! The familiar pain of longing and loss struck her again, compounding the arousal her memories had caused. She cursed her body and her mind. She was going to be the one up all night, dammit.

Still proceeding gently, she pressed her hand into his uninjured shoulder. "Lay down, baby," she whispered, reverting unconsciously to the affectionate moniker she had always used when she wanted him to do something for her...and after he had done some amazing things to her.

He didn't resist, and she wondered if he was in the past right then. There was no way to tell. His eyes, barely open, were unfocused and he was about out. She pulled off his shoes and covered him with the blanket. He turned onto his side, his preferred sleeping position, and she smiled.

_It worked,_ she congratulated herself as she watched him sleep. She couldn't help reaching out and lightly fingering the hair that curled at his forehead. Then she leaned down and kissed his temple. "Good night, Bobby," she whispered into his ear.

There was no response, and she expected none. Trailing her fingers down his cheek, she drew them away from his skin and left the room. Passing the bathroom door, she wondered vaguely if a cold shower would help her at all. _Dammit..._

Once, he had teased her into such a state she threatened to kill him if he didn't take care of business. He had happily accommodated, swearing afterwards that she really _had _tried to kill him. She missed that guy with all her heart, and she hoped she could reach far enough inside him to find the playful lover she missed so much and bring him back. She had her doubts, but she had hope, too. It was the hope that kept her going.


	9. A Bend in the Road?

When Goren woke the next morning, he felt odd, though not in an unfamiliar way. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be rested. Looking toward the window, he saw the lightening sky. Sunrise. He had not woken to a sunrise in a very long time. He was always awake to greet it, not the other way around.

He wondered how he'd ended up in the bed, and he felt a fleeting annoyance that she'd gotten her way with this. Of course, when did she ever not get her way, eventually? Oh, yeah...when he'd left. But wasn't that, too, on some level, what she'd wanted?

Rising with a groan, he went into the bathroom. On his way out, he took the time to look in a mirror, something he usually avoided. _Where did you come from?_ he wondered. It had been so long since he'd seen a semi-healthy version of himself, he didn't readily recognize the reflection. He was still pale, but some color had returned to his skin. The sick, gaunt look was gone, and his face had filled out some. His eyes were not bloodshot, just tired. He looked less like the people he pursued than he had since he'd started with Lou Fisher's squad.

Walking down the hall, he stopped to study the figure on the couch. She was sleeping comfortably, and he almost smiled. Then he remembered a time when neither of them had to sleep on the couch and the ghost of the almost-smile disappeared.

Moving on to the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee. Once it was brewed, he fixed a cup for each of them. The corner of his mouth quirked a little when he added the sugar to hers. Returning to the living room, he set both cups on the coffee table and sat in the easy chair to study her some more.

_Why are you here? _he wondered again._ More importantly, why have you stayed? Everything in your life is three thousand miles away. Fisher somehow convinced you to come out here, and my—injury?--convinced you to stay? But why? Because you still love me. And there's your downfall. You still love me. You couldn't move on, find someone who deserves you, because you're still hung up on me. What's wrong with you, Eames? What's wrong with me? How did I miss the writing on that wall?_He sighed._ Aw, hell, the whole building could have fallen on me and I would have missed it back then. Is this hell of our making, or is it all mine? Did I mire us both in it? Because, God help me, I never got over you, either. So what do we do? Can you get past this and truly forgive me for what I have done to you? What if we start over? Could you possibly even want to give me another chance to screw it up? Hell, who am I to even consider **asking **for another chance? You have no reason to give me one. No reason at all...and I certainly don't deserve it. I'm sorry, Alex. I've really fucked this up for both of us. You deserve better than I could ever give you. It's time to move on, baby. I have to let you go, once and for all, so you can move on, and that, finally, will be the end of me._

She stirred, drawing him from dark thoughts. She stretched and he reacted to that, remembering other mornings like this, and what her early waking moments had often led to. Memories like that had sustained him over the past year as much as they had tortured him.

She turned on to her stomach, seeing the still-hot coffee on the table. She lifted her head and looked his way, smiling. "Good morning."

His face softened, but he couldn't find a smile for her. There was too much pain and regret barring the way. "Good morning," he answered.

"How did you sleep?"

"I...slept. Thank you, but I wish you hadn't done that."

"I'm glad I did. I've always liked this couch, you know."

"You always liked the bed, too."

"That's true...especially when you were in it with me."

_Where did that come from?_ She bit her lip, regretting the words. But to her surprise, he didn't retreat. He simply sat there, looking at her. His expression changed to one she had not seen in a very long time. What had happened to him overnight? The expression didn't last, however. A moment of weakness, perhaps? Could she possibly be wearing him down?

"Do you want breakfast?" he asked.

"You're at a little disadvantage there." She nodded at his immobilized shoulder. "I'll fix breakfast."

He waved off her concern. "You've done enough for me." He leaned a little closer and said quietly, "I can do a lot of things with just one arm, Eames."

She stared at him as he got up. That was the closest he had come yet to the man he had once been, playful and teasing. That fed her fledgling hope. Walking to the kitchen doorway, she watched him pull out a mixing bowl and set it on the counter. She had once been able to read his body language with precision, a skill that was a little rusty but not gone. He was in pain. "Take your medicine."

He got out flour, eggs and milk. "I'm all right."

"Take it anyway. Please."

He looked over his shoulder at her, then turned back to the batter he was preparing. She stepped up to his side and looked into the bowl as he measured in the ingredients. "Pancakes?"

"You like pancakes."

"I love pancakes, but that's a lot of effort..."

"No, it's not."

She touched his bare shoulder and ran her fingers down to his elbow. "Thank you," she said, turning to leave the room. "And take your medicine."

He turned his head to watch her leave, and his mouth moved. It was the closest he'd come to a smile in longer than he cared to calculate. A long time ago, he had realized how much he needed her. That was never more true than it had been in the months following his mother's death. And yet, he had turned her away, when he'd needed her most. To her credit, she was there, waiting for him to realize it. He never did, or if he did, he denied it would do any good, going to her. So he'd left, cutting off any possibility of a retreat back into her arms. And now, here she was, letting him know it was all right to come back. But was it? He wasn't convinced that it was, for her.

He made a dozen pancakes, more than enough for the two of them. By the time he had everything set out on the table she was back, freshly showered and dressed. She sat down, smiling. "You always made the best pancakes," she said brightly.

Something was different. She had lost the hard edge she had been carrying around since she'd arrived. He wasn't sure where it went, but he would be happy if it didn't come back. This Alex was...his Alex...the way she was when they'd first gotten together to make a go of a personal relationship, before he had destroyed it.

She motioned at him with her fork. "Eat. Did you take your medicine?"

He held up a pill. "I need to eat, first, remember?"

"So eat. Food is good for you, Bobby. You're already looking a lot better than you were when I got here."

"I noticed."

"Did you? So you know how bad you looked?"

He nodded as he moved three pancakes onto his plate. "I know."

She took a bite of pancake, wondering how much he was going to let her get away with. _You don't know if you don't try, Alex._ "But you didn't do anything about it."

"No. I didn't."

"Why?"

He shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. "What reason did I have to care? I did my job, I took care of my partners as they came along...that's all I had."

He was talking to her. It was a start. She couldn't fix everything all at once, so she would take what he would give her. "I'm glad to see you looking better. You had me worried."

He arched an eyebrow. "Did I?"

Was he being obtuse or was he seeking reassurance? He acted like he didn't believe her, but she knew he did. She knew that he could see her concern, from the first moment she laid eyes on him last week. She opted for the reassurance. "Yes, Bobby. You did."

She waited for the apology, but it never came. She was delighted. Maybe she was finally getting through to him. "Do you want to go shopping with me?"

He almost dropped his fork. "Sh-shopping?"

"Yes. Shopping. I have three outfits with me. That doesn't leave many combinations to wear, you know."

"Nine."

"Nine what?"

"Nine combinations."

She stared at him for a moment before she broke out into laughter. He looked up at her, confused, and she waved her fork at him as she explained, "I almost forgot what it was like, being so close to a genius."

He returned his attention to his breakfast. That was something he had never been able to do anything about. She had always been close to him, genius or not.

"So is that a 'yes'?" she asked. "Or do you plan to turn me loose on Sacramento with an almost paid-off credit card?"

Turn her loose...? No, that was something that went against his nature as far as she was concerned._ Take care of her..._ He couldn't ignore that part of his conscience. "I'll go with you."

"Do you remember the last time we went shopping?"

He nodded. "I remember. You tried on fourteen outfits. You bought two."

And he had loved every second of it, though he never told her that. Actions always spoke louder than words, he thought, remembering what happened after they got home. She had modeled one of the outfits for him...and after an entire afternoon of her teasing, he'd helped her off with it...

He closed his eyes. The past was getting him in trouble. Maybe shopping with her wasn't such a great idea...

He started when her hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Wake up," she teased. She nodded at his plate. "Are you done?"

Done? He had a feeling he was just getting started, and he knew of no way out of it. He nodded and pushed his plate away. "I'm done."

"Go get dressed then while I do the dishes."

"I can..."

"You can get dressed. Go."

She wasn't afraid to bring back her hard line when she thought it was necessary. He could find no fault with her timing. He went to the bedroom to get washed and dressed. Two more days and he went back to Dr. Conklin to get the sutures out and maybe get rid of the immobilizer. His shoulder was stiff and he hated that damn thing. He sat down on the bed for a moment and closed his eyes, wondering if he was up to shopping with Eames. Physically, he felt all right. That was not the issue. His concern was whether or not he was up to it emotionally. He was finding himself ill-prepared to deal with much on an emotional level.

As she washed the dishes, Eames mused over Goren's behavior. As pleased as she was with his physical improvement, she found his emotional recovery much more tenuous. His physical deterioration had come on the heels of his emotional disintegration, and she was left to wonder if there was anything left to repair. Today, for the first time, she came to realize that all was not lost. The foundation of her relationship with him, forged in the early days of their friendship, seemed to be solid. She got the sense that it had survived his near destruction mostly intact, and she realized that she had stumbled upon a way to reach him. _The past._ His memories were the key to reaching him, to melting his defenses and getting him to let her in. They had a strong past filled with powerful memories, for them both. If there was any way to restore his stability and rebuild their relationship, the past would lead the way.

When she finished the dishes, she knocked on the bedroom door. "How are you doing in here?"

Poking her head into the room, she watched him standing in front of his mirror, slowly buttoning his shirt with one hand. She entered the room and ducked between him and the mirror. He stepped back, which left her disappointed but not surprised She reached out and gently grasped his shirt, slipping one button after the other into its corresponding buttonhole. Then she smoothed her hand over his shirt. "There. Are you ready to go?"

He was having second thoughts. How was he going to handle watching her try on clothes when he could barely handle watching her button his shirt? She reached up and straightened his collar. Once, he would have followed her to hell and back...and he was shocked to find out that he still felt as strongly for her. He closed his eyes when her fingers brushed over his neck. "Bobby?"

He opened his eyes slowly, but avoided looking at her. "Let's go, Eames."

He stepped away from her and left the room. She followed him, wondering just what this shopping trip was going to do to him. She didn't know if the butterflies in her stomach were from anxiety or anticipation...or some odd combination of both. Soon, she would have her answer.


	10. Waiting For His Smile

Arden Fair Mall was a major shopping area, and there were plenty of places for Eames to find clothes she liked; she was in no hurry. The mall was a busy place, but she was fine with that. Goren always thrived in high energy places, and she was hoping that had not changed.

First, she wanted to get a feel for the place and what it had to offer, so she made note of the stores she wanted to visit as they strolled through the mall. Once, he would have gladly held her hand, and she looked at him to gauge whether or not he would be receptive to it now. _No,_ she decided. _He's not ready yet_.

He had never been here before. He didn't have much incentive to shop, even for groceries, so there had never been a reason for him to visit the place. In New York, however, he had gone shopping with Eames many times, and it had always been a lot of fun. But it was Eames that made it fun. He watched her wander from store to store, looking in the windows, watching the other denizens of the mall--couples, mothers with small children, the occasional business man looking for just the right Valentine gift for his...secretary. The teens hadn't yet descended on the mall; school wasn't out. He wondered what she was thinking.

As they stepped off the escalator onto the upper level, a chubby little toddler who had escaped from his pregnant mother came running directly at them, giggling. He was hurtling headlong directly toward the escalator. Just before he reached the moving stairs, Goren leaned over and swept him off his feet with his left arm. The child's mother came running up. "Thank you so much."

He nodded as she took the little boy from him. "Can you get him?"

"Oh, yes. I just can't chase him very well. My sister ducked into _Sears _for a moment, and he climbed out of his stroller and got away from me." She smiled. "Thank you again."

He nodded and offered a brief semblance of a smile. Eames felt her insides drop a little. His gentle nature, his concern for others, they were still intact, but he couldn't even muster a smile for a baby or his pretty mother. She watched as he moved out of the stream of traffic to continue watching the young mother and the toddler, until her sister emerged from _Sears_. After that he was reassured that the woman and her son would be all right.

As he turned away from watching them, he inadvertently walked into Eames, who had been waiting off to the side and behind him. His left arm instinctively went around her to keep her from stumbling backwards. She placed her hands on his chest and looked up into his face. A momentary flicker of emotion ghosted across his face, too fast for her to identify any of it. She gently rubbed her hand over his chest. "Come on. Let's walk down this way."

He released her and fell into step beside her again. She resumed her window shopping, but she was wondering about the glimmer of emotion she'd seen on his face. It encouraged her, and she kept glancing his way. He was watching the people around them, something he had always done, but it wasn't the same as it had once been.

She had always been amused by his tendency to notice beautiful women, but now, he didn't look at any of them, though it was clear many of them noticed him. He did notice the children, but not even they garnered a smile from him. He also used to have a sweet smile for elderly couples, holding hands as they shopped or exercised by doing the "mall walk," but not any longer.

She sighed heavily, knowing he wouldn't notice. However, as he had so many times in the past, he surprised her. Leaning toward her, he spoke into her ear. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him in disbelief. "You have to ask that?"

He looked ashamed. "Sorry."

"No, you're not," she hissed, moving away from his side and disappearing into _The Limited_. He watched her lose herself amid the racks of clothing and he let out a heavy sigh. He really didn't know what to do. He would make the excuse that she was asking for more than he could give, but she wasn't asking for anything. Whatever he was able to give, she accepted, not pushing for more. She moved from her hard line to softer coaxing and back with ease, and he was beginning to see her through a window that opened into the past...and the future.

He wandered outside the store, waiting for her, and he found himself browsing through the cases in the_ Zale's_ next door. He stopped in front of the display of a beautiful heart pendant in interlocking yellow and white gold, with small diamonds gracing the inner curve of the heart. It was part of their Journey jewelry line...a journey...he had taken her on one hell of a journey, there was no doubt, and she still had the heart to travel three thousand miles...to save him. When the salesman approached him, his mind was made up.

* * *

Eames came out of _The Limited _with several pairs of jeans and a couple of tops. She looked around for Goren but didn't spot him right away. Finally, she saw him walking toward her from across the side wing that led to _Nordstrom's_. She walked toward him, noticing the _Victoria's Secret_ behind him and wondering, with a degree of hope, if that was where he had been browsing. "See anything you like?" she asked, a light note of teasing in her tone. 

He was puzzled until he looked over his shoulder, following her gaze. His face softened into the shadow of a smile, which vanished by the time he turned back to her. "Do you?" he replied.

"What incentive do I have to shop there?"

"You like pretty clothes," he answered.

"All right, Goren. We'll play it your way. Let's go into the store, and you can help me pick something I can sleep in."

He froze. "M-Me? Help you..."

"You heard me." She slipped her hand into his and pulled him toward the store.

_Oh, dear God..._he thought. _No..._

She held firmly to his hand as she dragged him into the store. He went along with her, letting her guide him where she wanted. When she was certain he would not bolt if she released his hand, she let go and began to browse. Resigned to his fate, he followed her from rack to rack, watching as she pulled out one outfit after the next. She held them up to her body and looked down to visualize how they would look on her. He tried not to watch, but he couldn't help himself, and he had no problem at all imagining exactly what she would look like in each outfit. Her body, trim and toned, the perfect combination of firm muscle and soft curve...

He was having a hard time breathing. "I-I can't do this, Eames..."

She rested a hand on his arm, concerned. "Wait out by the carousel. I won't be long."

He nodded and hurried out of the store. She watched him leave, and she felt bad for pressing him into something he obviously wasn't ready for. She chose a couple of outfits to wear to bed, fully expecting to be sleeping alone, and she went out to find Goren.

She found him sitting near the carousel, watching the children. She sat beside him and rested her hand on his arm. "I am so sorry, Bobby."

He shook his head. "It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe we should go home."

_Home..._ He shook his head. "You still have shopping to do. I'm fine now."

But something was different and she had no idea if it was good or bad. He walked with her through the rest of the mall and then back to the stores she wanted to visit. Quietly, he waited as she tried on different outfits before deciding which ones she liked. They both remembered shopping trips in the past, when she had taken great delight in teasing him, but she did none of that, recalling his reaction in _Victoria's Secret_. She wanted desperately for him to find his way back to the way he once was, but she had no desire to kill him on the way.

Finally, finishing up in the last of the stores she wanted to shop in, she said, "All right. One more store and we'll be done."

"Take your time."

He followed her to _Illuminations_, a specialty candle shop, and waited while she got what she wanted. After paying, she joined him where he waited, looking at a candle display near the door. "All right," she said. "Let's go home."

There was that word again. _Home_. He followed her to the car, his mind dwelling on the concept of home. For most of his life, New York had been home. He had tried to build a new life out here, to find some sense of belonging, and it simply did not work. He had never been able to think of Sacramento as home. As much as he had enjoyed Germany and Korea, they had not been home, either. Even now, with his mother gone, New York was the only place he ever thought of as home. He didn't belong out here. The essence of who he was emanated from the energy of New York. That was where he truly belonged.

He opened the door to his apartment, set her bags on the couch and went into the kitchen. She carried in the rest of the bags and began going through them. Finding the bag from _Illuminations_, she unpacked a candle sconce, formed into the Tree of Life. Setting it in the center of the coffee table, she added the candles she had gotten and asked for a lighter. He came out of the kitchen with an open beer and a lit cigarette, handing her the lighter. He studied the sconce as she lit the candles. "That's nice."

"I'm glad you like it. This place could use some kind of a homey touch."

"Why?"

"Because it's your home, Bobby."

"No, Eames. It's not home. It never was. But thank you."

She looked at him and wondered what he meant, but he did not seem in the mood to explain himself, so she let it slide for the moment and changed the subject. "I got you a couple of shirts and two ties, too."

"What did you do that for?"

"Because I wanted to."

He took a drink. "You didn't have to do that, Eames."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I know."

He studied her face. He had seen those features in so many dreams over the last year, expressing so much emotion—a great deal of anger and just as much love. There was always love; it always came back to that. She loved him. Even after all the pain and grief he had caused her, she loved him. And for what little it was worth, he had never stopped loving her. No matter how he looked at it, they were fated to be together. He sat beside her on the couch. "What am I going to do?"

For the first time, she saw an invitation, an openness in him that invited her input. "That's up to you, Bobby."

"Do you know how many bridges I burned?"

"Not as many as you would think."

"If I stay here," he murmured. "I'll be dead within the year."

She found herself gripped by a vague fear, because she knew that he was right. "Is that what you want?"

He stared at the flickering candles, taking a drag of the cigarette and another long drink of his beer. "I don't know what I want," he answered honestly.

"Will you consider what I want?"

He nodded. "I'll consider it."

She felt unsettled. He had closed himself off to her again but she knew that he knew what she wanted. She would never be happy until he was back home where he belonged, back in her life. She would prefer to have him back in her bed, but she would settle for whatever he was willing to give her at this point. Reaching toward him, she touched his hand. When he didn't withdraw, she took it a step further to caress his arm, but there she stopped. _Baby steps, Alex,_ she cautioned. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I should make you something..."

"Not yet. Let your shoulder heal a little more. I don't mind cooking for you."

"You never did."

"You remember that, too?"

"I remember...a lot."

She studied him closely. "That has made this much harder for you, hasn't it?"

She had no idea. His memories, and the knowledge of what he had left behind, had compounded his downward spiral and became the driving force behind his depression. What should have served to comfort him only served to fuel his misery and it escalated the destruction of his soul. Was the damage permanent? That remained to be seen.

She sorted through some of her bags, pulling out three nice shirt, one blue, one white and one tan, and two ties, a blue striped one and a burgundy one with small blue diamonds on it. She handed them to him. He examined each item in turn, then looked at her. She had always loved buying him things, even if it was just a tie or a set of coasters. The left side of his mouth raised a little. He still had those coasters, sandstone, with the image of Fraser's _End of the Trail_ on them. The irony of how that image suited his life was not lost on him. "Thank you, Eames."

He rose and carried them into the bedroom to put them away. Eames watched him walk down the hall. She had a feeling she had made some progress today, even if it was difficult to tell. There was one thing that would tell her she had succeeded in bringing him back, one thing that would return the light to chase away the shadows that now touched her soul. She was waiting for his smile.


	11. Old Habits Die Hard

**A/N: Okay, folks...I know this is a short chapter, but appetizers are small, aren't they?**

* * *

Eames settled into the hot water of the bath she had drawn for herself. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Goren was asleep on the couch, after refusing to take his medicine and downing half a dozen beers. She didn't know what to do with him. 

Letting her mind wander as she relaxed turned out to be a big mistake. It fled to the past, to the days when she shared her bed with a very different Bobby Goren, before he  
descended into a dark world beyond her reach. She had never forgotten the things his body liked or the few things he didn't care for. Bobby's life was one filled with pain, and he dealt with that by seeking out physical pleasure. She couldn't blame him for that. But there was something about _them_ that was different. They made an emotional connection that enhanced their physical relationship to the point that it bordered on addiction. She knew he felt the same. And that connection had made the destruction of it all the more devastating.

He carried a heavy burden of guilt for losing her; she knew he did. But she had spent the last year wondering if she had done them a grave injustice. When his mother became terminally ill, he withdrew from her, and she had responded to the hurt with anger, making him retreat even further. Anger, she should have realized, was not the way to reach him. All it had done was set the course for their destruction. By the time Skoda got involved, the writing was on the wall, but no one chose to read it.

She had spent the year on an emotional roller coaster that rivaled any ride in any amusement park in the nation. Every emotion that she felt for him was powerfully overwhelming. She missed him to the point of physical pain; she worried to the point she became physically ill. She became so angry she could not contain it, and poor Logan had borne the brunt of much of that. She had tried to move on, to find a man who could fill the void his departure had left in her life. None of them had even come close. Not one had made it through dinner, much less home into her bed. They would have been dismally poor substitutes for the real thing.

There were so many things that Goren did well. He was a brilliant investigator, a well-read genius competently familiar with many subjects, a fluent speaker of more than one language. He was a confident, graceful dancer and a stimulating dinner companion. He was a romantic at heart. But above any of it, she had to admit, he really came into his own once the lights went out. Her body still trembled at the memory of what he had been able to do to it. _Oh, God...Bobby..._

She sank lower into the bath, shaking with uncontrollable grief over the loss from her life of her partner, her friend, her lover...and she could not say which role of his she missed the most. Once more, she could not keep the pain of her loss at bay. The dark cloud of grief washed over her like the water in the tub, and, as she had done so often in the past year, she cried.

* * *

Goren was right, a habit of his she had often found aggravating. She did like pretty clothes. But given the circumstances of their relationship, she had chosen several practical outfits to sleep in: three tank top and boxer sets and two sleepshirts. But there'd been one adorable babydoll she fell in love with. Not too frilly, it was simple but sexy and just the right shade of deep purple to suit her. It didn't matter if no one else ever saw it. She liked it and that was the reason she bought it. She didn't need a man in her bedroom to want to feel pretty in it. 

She pulled on a gray tank top and hip-hugging boxers then toweled her hair again, shaking it out and looking in the mirror. She liked what she saw, and it disturbed her that she knew Goren could not say the same thing when he looked at his own image. She felt partially responsible for that, even though she knew the majority of blame for it lay with his mother. How difficult was it to offer unconditional love and acceptance to a life you brought forth from your own? At the rate she was going, she would never know. If she remained unable to get over the man who was sleeping in the next room, she'd never have sex again, much less give birth again.

She went into the kitchen and cleaned up, then fixed herself a cup of tea. Carrying it to the living room, she curled into the easy chair near the couch and studied him with a critical eye. He did look better, healthier. But even in his sleep, she could tell he was in pain. What she could not tell was where the pain emanated from. Was it physical or emotional, or both? How much of it was she responsible for? The anger returned. Why was she responsible for _any_ of it? What had she done that was so horribly offensive? She had committed the cardinal sin of loving him. And when he tried to drive her off, she refused to go. Any pain he felt at her expense was not hers. It stemmed from his own inability to give her what he knew she wanted from him. So how did that make it her fault?

With a deep sigh, she realized that he never blamed her. It was nothing she had done or not done that hurt him. She had wandered into his life and he had not been able to drive her away. If the worst thing she ever did to him was standing by him, well, damn...what a rotten person she was. But no...that wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing she had done was to fall in love with him. It would have helped matters if he had not made it so damn easy. "It's your own fault, you know, you stupid ox. If you'd been a creep, I would never have stayed. If you'd been more like Logan, I would never have fallen for you. But no, you had to be sweet, and caring, and..." Her eyes filled with tears. "Damn it, Bobby."

She got up and started across the room. "Eames."

His voice stopped her dead in her tracks and she spun to face him. He was up on his elbow, hair mussed, eyes still sleepy. She poking an accusing finger at him. "You were supposed to be sleeping!"

"I was, until you started talking."

"I forgot how lightly you slept. But the beer..."

"A six-pack is nothing. I fell asleep because I was tired."

"I should have known better."

"You should have."

"Do you expect me to remember everything?"

"I don't expect anything. But I do wish you didn't remember as much as you do. I'm sorry because that hurts you."

"Not always. The memories are good, Bobby. It's the fact that they're only memories, and they'll never be anything more, that hurts."

He looked at the floor. "I know."

It was time to push. He was open and off his guard. "What do you know?"

"That it hurts because there will never be more."

Her eyes flashed. "And why is that, Goren? Why won't there be more? Because _you_ took it all away. And I will _not_ accept blame for that!"

He watched her turn on her heel and storm down the hall. _Just like old times,_ he mused bitterly. The one part of his relationship with her he had always hated was the fighting. Now the making up...he closed his eyes and felt a hot wave of desire suddenly crash into him with devastating force.

He groaned, stunned that she could still do that to him. Of course, she'd been able to do the same thing from three thousand miles away. Why not from the next room? But there'd be no making up now. A phone call or two and he could have a less than adequate substitute, but he wasn't up for that, either. He could go down the hall and talk to her, but where would that get them? What could he say that would possibly make any of this better? Not a damn thing. She was hurting and there was no way for him to help her with that, even though he had caused it. Just one more thing on a long list he carried with him of people he'd hurt and things he'd fucked up. This one, though, hurt more than all the rest combined, and there was no way for him to escape that pain.

She buried her head in the pillows. Okay...that had not gone according to plan at all. He'd caught her off guard and she'd reacted with anger. Sometimes old patterns were hard to break. But she was going to fix this one. As soon as she composed herself, she was going to have this out with him, once and for all. By the time the sun rose, either they were going to be all right, or she was going to be on her way to the airport, alone. Forever.


	12. Breakthrough

She went into the bathroom and washed her face. She could hear him moving about; she knew he would not have gone back to sleep. She knew exactly what he was doing. He went into the kitchen for one of the bottles in the cabinet over the refrigerator. He might not have had any food in the apartment when she arrived, but there was beer in the fridge and scotch in the cabinet above it. First things first. Before she could do anything else to help him, she had to reach him.

He looked up when she came into the room, surprised to see she had not changed her clothes. Another reason he had not gone after her was that he didn't want to watch her pack. But she wasn't leaving, and he puzzled over that. Just what was it about her, or about him, that was making her stay? Anyone else would have been long gone.

His gaze didn't linger, though. It never did. He couldn't watch her for long without feeling some kind of reaction and he had enough to deal with. He still loved her and, God help him, his attraction to her had not lessened with time. He dropped his eyes to the glass in his hand and he took a drink. He'd lost his confidence with her and he didn't know what to say, so he opted for silence.

She didn't know what to do, but she knew she had to do something. She crossed the room and slowly eased herself onto the couch beside him. He lifted the glass toward his mouth, and she moved her hand to cover it. Instead of his glass, his lips came into contact with her hand, and he hesitated, unable to react.

Closing her fingers around the glass, she removed it from his hand, and he relinquished it. She set it on the coffee table and screwed the cap on the bottle. "This is getting us nowhere. We need to talk, Bobby."

The fact that she was absolutely right didn't make him feel any better. There were demons dwelling at the edge of his memory that he did not want to face. But there was one thing he was more frightened of facing: her final departure. He was standing on another precipice, and he knew this was it. He would never have another chance for her forgiveness. He felt that was the most he could expect from her, and he was doubtful about whether she would give it to him. He certainly did not deserve it, but he decided that would not stop him from asking.

"You were right, but you weren't, about me being sorry. I am very sorry for a lot of things, but the one thing I have never been sorry for was loving you."

She was relieved to hear him say that, but she decided that it was time to challenge him, to ask for explanations for the things she puzzled over. "You didn't love me enough to stay."

He shook his head. "That's not true. I loved you too much to stay. As long as I was around, I knew you would never move on."

"I never moved on anyway, Bobby! I could never find it in myself to let you go, even though I had no idea where you were."

"Why?"

That was a good question that she had often asked herself. She had no answer for it, but she was not about to let him get away with using his interrogation techniques on her. She ignored his question. "I want to know why you left, and I don't want any bullshit. I know it was hard for you to lose your mother, but I don't believe that was why you left."

He was definitely not drunk, though he wished he was, but he had enough alcohol in his system to knock his defenses down a few notches. Compounding the issue was the fact that she was right beside him, and her hand was still resting just above his knee. He had been very stubborn about keeping her at arms' length when his mother was dying, and that had been a major factor in the demolition of their relationship. How could he possibly ask her for another chance? "I was...tired. My mother's death did take a lot out of me, but that was...nothing...compared to what I was going through with you."

She understood that. But she decided to antagonize him, in an attempt to reignite the flame that had burned out inside him. "You were tired of me, then?"

"Of you? No. But I was tired of...of all the fighting, and the anger. You were unhappy, but you wouldn't...let me go. So I made you let me go."

"Made me? Bobby, you gave me no choice. You took it right out of my hands."

He was still focused on the floor. "It was for your own good."

She withdrew her hand from his leg. "In whose estimation? Don't I have the right to make up my own mind? Damn you, Bobby!" She smacked his shoulder. "You had no right!"

His voice remained quiet, his tone flat. "I had every right. It was my life to live."

She waved her hand around the room. "What life?"

"It is what it is."

"No. It is what you have twisted it into. If you had stayed, we could have worked it out..."

He was shaking his head. "There was no working it out."

She knew she was getting too worked up, and she forced herself to calm down. "Only because you wouldn't try. You gave up." She gave his shoulder a shove. "You were the one who quit on us."

He nodded. "You're right. I was so...worn out. I had nothing left. And I never recovered."

She could not stop the tears from spilling over onto her cheeks. "All you had to do was come to me and tell me you wanted my help."

"It wasn't that easy. You were so angry, all the time."

She had been very angry, and she still struggled with it. "That was how I dealt with the pain you were causing me."

He realized that, but he had retreated so far into himself, he'd lost his way. "Nothing has changed."

"So I see." She wiped at her eyes, annoyed. "Am I wasting my time here?"

"That all depends on what you are trying to accomplish."

"All right, Goren. Tell me what I've managed to achieve so far."

"You can't tell that you've made a difference?"

She was surprised that he'd noticed. "Can you?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch. "I can tell," he said softly.

Words were his most powerful weapon, but she was less skilled in verbal combat. She was tired of cruising in circles with him, and she realized she would have to change tactics if she wanted to break down his walls. She still had a chance, but it was fading fast. It was time to find out if she still had what it took to get to him, and she hoped he was ready for it.

Steeling herself for a powerful negative reaction, she reached out and gently touched his ear. Slowly, she traced it, struggling to keep her hand from trembling. She remembered how much he had always loved it when she played with his ear. She also remembered the soft, sensitive spot in the hollow behind his earlobe, how the gentle caress of her breath or the moist stroking of the tip of her tongue affected him. Her body heated at the memory, and she fought against the feeling, with limited success.

He gasped softly at the tender caress and closed his eyes, but he didn't object. He found his mind straying to the past, filling with memories of tender moments and passionate interludes. He made no attempt to stop the memories this time and he let his body react to the light caress. To hell with the consequences. He'd deal with them later. The price would be steep...but he didn't care at the moment. He was as close to content as he'd gotten in the last two years.

She was surprised when he didn't object, even moreso when he closed his eyes and seemed to relax. She was encouraged. Her memory did not fail her as she guided her fingers from his ear down to the side of his neck. She leaned closer and whispered, "I have missed you _so _much."

Tears escaped from his eyes and rolled unchecked down his cheeks. She moved in closer, softly brushing her lips across the tear trails. He bit his lower lip and drew in a slow, uneven breath. His hand moved, sliding along the couch until it ran into the bare skin of her thigh. Slowly, he caressed her skin. It was even softer than he remembered.

Her lips moved from his cheek to pause in front of his ear. Her lips brushed over his skin and her breath whispered into his ear like a warm, inviting breeze. He trembled, and his caressing hand inched its way along her thigh.

He had spent so many years tightly controlling himself in so many situations. He had spent years avoiding such intimate contact with her, then months enjoying it, until everything fell apart and he lost her...or thought he did. The past week had started him thinking that perhaps he had been wrong.

She secured his earlobe between her lips and teased it with her tongue; his breathing became ragged. The beautiful, magic tongue sank itself behind his earlobe, to that one spot she knew that few other women ever bothered with, and he drew in a sharp breath.

When his fingers tickled the hem of her shorts, begging entry, she slid closer, straddling herself onto his lap. Her mouth found its way back along his cheek to his mouth and he welcomed her kiss. Her teasing tongue invited his to the chase, and he obliged, seeking it when it retreated into her mouth. His head was spinning. He slid his fingers along her waistband. Such soft skin, warm and yielding...like her mouth...and...

He had stopped thinking when her fingers began to stroke his ear. He turned himself over to memory and experience, exploring her body with his free hand and her mouth with his. She returned his explorations, also resurrecting memories never forgotten. She whispered two words into his ear. "No couch."

He replied with a soft groan. She moved her hips back and forth and he trembled, groaning more deeply. When she eased herself from his lap and began to draw away, he followed, unwilling to lose contact with her. He pulled her back against his body, reclaiming her mouth. The deep despair he had been mired in slipped away as she grasped his belt and pulled him with her down the hall.

Once inside the bedroom door, the belt was opened, button and zipper undone and she slid his pants down over his hips. Clothes quickly shed, they fell back on the bed. Pain shot into his shoulder as the tumble jarred it, but he barely noticed. His mind was ruled by a raging fire that burned twice as hot through his body, consuming every thought and igniting the long-dead emotional center of his being.

She saw the fire in his eyes, felt the heat in his body. His kisses were hungry, his explorations hot and desperate. She responded with a fire to match his own and tears of relief and joy rolled down her cheeks, unchecked and unnoticed. She didn't even try to control her raging desire. She had finally restored what they both thought was gone forever.

* * *

Eames snuggled back into the pillows; she had always loved the comfort of his bed. His head rested on her abdomen and he was sleeping, groaning softly when pain bit into his sleep. She sifted her hand through his hair and thought back over what had happened, wondering what it meant. As his soft groans continued, she slid out from under him and left the room. 

Goren turned in the bed, stirring toward wakening. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly. Opening his eyes, he looked around the room, instinctively searching out her overnight bag, which still rested on the floor beside his dresser. _Don't panic, stupid,_ he told himself._ She got up for a glass of water, like she used to._

_Like she used to..._ His mind thought back two hours, and his body reacted to the memory. But what could it mean? What would she expect from him? Anything? So far, she had not been demanding of him. She simply wanted him to be okay, and he could offer no reassurance that he would be. But something changed; something was very different. He could feel it, deep inside. He almost felt human again. She had reached out, patiently supportive, hard or soft when he needed her to be. She still understood him, and she still loved him. She had always been there, patiently--and sometimes not so patiently--waiting for him to come to her. And when he didn't, finally, she had come to him. She had succeeded in what she set out to do. She had saved him.

The door opened and she returned to the bed, sitting by him and turning on the bedside lamp. She looked down and saw dark eyes, watching her curiously. "Sit up and take this," she said softly.

He sat up and she placed a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He took it without argument, and she placed the glass on the nightstand. When she snuggled back into the pillows, he nestled into her side and settled his head on her shoulder. She rested her cheek against his head and rubbed his back. With her other hand, she caressed his temple. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered.

"Of course."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

She was encouraged when there was no hesitancy in his answer. "Please...come home with me."

"And do what?" he asked softly.

"Be with me, for one."

It was her number one selling point, and it swayed him. "How do I make a living?"

"We'll find something. I can talk to Ross; he'll pull for you."

"I am not the chief's favorite person, remember?"

"Don't underestimate the impact you left on Major Case, Bobby. And don't dismiss anything out of hand."

_Be with me, _she said. There was nowhere he would rather be. Apart from her, he had found, he was less than complete. As bad as things got for him in New York, they had been so much worse after he left. Snuggling closer, he draped his leg over hers and rested his arm across her abdomen. He was sleepy, and he drew in a deep breath. "I'll go home with you," he consented.

Her heart soared. She kissed his head and continued to rub his back until he slept. There was only one more thing she needed that he had been unable to give. She needed to see his smile.


	13. A Surprise For Alex

**A/N: Okay, I do believe this is the chapter everyone's been waiting for. Enjoy :-) **

* * *

Trevor Conklin examined the incision in Goren's shoulder, lightly prodding the skin around it. He looked over his patient's shoulder toward the x-ray on the light box hanging on the wall."I admit, I am pleased with your progress, detective. I think it's safe for you to graduate from the immobilizer to a sling. You can begin to exercise that shoulder, but carefully. Don't overdo it, or you'll find yourself back in the immobilizer. If the pain is severe, back off. Take it slowly. It's going to take time for the pain to go away and for you to get your mobility back."

Goren nodded, and Conklin glanced toward Eames, who also nodded. The doctor was satisfied. He wrote in Goren's chart and said, "I want to see you back in two weeks."

"Suppose I'm not here?"

"Where would you be?"

He glanced at Eames, then said, "I, uh, I'm going back to New York, permanently."

Conklin looked surprised, until he asked, "With her?"

"Yes."

The doctor nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he would be staying with her. He had not known the man long, but he saw enough to realize that without her, he was unmanageable. "You can follow up there. Have your doctor give me a call and I'll give him a verbal report and send your records to him."

Goren nodded, waiting impatiently as the doctor dressed his shoulder. Conklin then wrote on a prescription pad, tore off the paper and handed it to Goren. "Your pain will increase substantially from the dull throb of an immobile joint as you begin to move it. This medicine is a bit stronger than what you have been taking. As far as moving your shoulder, start slowly. When you get back to New York, find a good physical therapist. Like I've said all along, you should regain full use of your shoulder, but it may take some work."

Goren slid off the exam table and shoved the prescription into his pocket as he grabbed his shirt. "I, um, thank you, Dr. Conklin."

As he moved his injured shoulder to pull on his shirt, the pain flared and he groaned deeply, pausing with his eyes closed to allow the pain to subside. He was surprised when gentle hands grasped his shirt and slid it up to his shoulder, smoothing it across his back to his other shoulder. He slid his other arm into the sleeve and she stepped around to stand in front of him. She buttoned his shirt as he watched her, his eyes filled with obvious affection. Reaching past him, she grabbed the sling. He ducked his head, allowing her to slide it over his head so he could slip his arm into it. When she stepped back, he touched her elbow briefly, but looked away before she could respond.

She felt a brief surge of disappointment, but it passed when she reminded herself of how far he had come. It was going to take time and patience to get him back to baseline, which was all she expected from him. She looked at the surgeon. "Thank you, Dr. Conklin."

"You're welcome. Take care."

He looked once more at Goren, wondering at the change in the man, before turning to leave the exam room.

* * *

They stopped to get the prescription filled, then drove to the Narcotics squad room. Wary eyes watched them, curious about the woman with Goren. He said nothing, made eye contact with no one. Eames had seen that before and it brought back unpleasant memories. He had ostracized himself in their own squad room once, after losing his mother. 

They proceeded to Fisher's office. The captain looked up from his desk, and his face broke into a smile. "Goren, Detective Eames, come in."

Fisher motioned for them to be seated. Eames accepted the offer; Goren did not. Fisher studied his detective. "You look good, Goren."

Goren nodded, stepping closer to the desk as he reached into his pocket. He set his badge on the desk, along with his department-issue gun. "I, uh, I came to give my notice, captain."

Fisher didn't look surprised. "I hate to lose you."

Goren did look surprised. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I hate to lose you. You are very good at what you do, detective. Your demeanor could use some improving, but you are a very good cop."

"Thank you, captain."

Fisher nodded. "What are you going to do?"

"I, uh, I'm going back to New York."

Slowly, Fisher nodded his approval. "Good. You never should have left New York."

"I know."

The captain stood and extended his hand. "Good luck."

Goren accepted the offered hand and Fisher extended it in turn to Eames. "The best thing I could have done was call you, Detective Eames."

"I'm glad you did, captain. Thank you for everything."

Fisher nodded and watched them leave the office. Goren looked better than he had ever seen the man look, and he was glad Eames had been able to reach him. That was something he had never been able to do.

* * *

As Eames pulled away from the curb, Goren asked out of the blue, "Are you sure about this, Eames?" 

She didn't have to ask what he meant, but she didn't answer right away. Finally, her voice soft, she replied, "There are very few things in my life that I am sure of, Bobby. The fact that I love you...is one of those things."

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and looked out the window in silence. She promised herself that if he apologized to her, he was going to walk home. After a long interval of silence, he finally found his voice, and his reply was simple. "I love you, too, Eames."

She did not expect that. When she stopped at the next red light, she looked at him. He did not look back. As the light changed, she reached toward him, her fingers lightly stroking the back of his hand. He did not move, except to turn his hand over and close it around hers. After a moment, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it. She felt the heat from the contact spread from her hand to the core of her body, and it surprised her. Gripping his hand firmly, she suppressed a tremor as his thumb stroked the side of hers.

She loved him, and her body yearned for his. The year he'd been gone, and the troubled time before that, had been painful, but pain, once gone, remained little more than the ghost of a memory. It was the love that survived and remained stronger for its ordeal.

As they entered the apartment, she glanced at the time. "Sit down while I get dinner going. Then, we need to talk."

While she went into the kitchen, he sat on the couch and eased his arm out of its sling. Slowly and carefully, he moved his arm, biting down on his lip against the pain. He slowly rotated it, relieved to no longer need the immobilizer he had so hated. But the pain took its toll and he rose, setting the sling on the coffee table and crossing the living room to the kitchen to grab a dose of painkiller. He stopped when he saw her at the sink, overcome for a moment by a flood of memories.

Eames opened the package of chicken as she stood at the sink. She heard him come into the room and sensed his presence behind her. He leaned in and softly said, "Remember when we used to make dinner together?"

She smiled at the memories his question evoked. "How many of those dinners did we burn?"

He rested his cheek against the side of her head. "Not nearly enough."

Her smile faded and she closed her eyes. She had not expected that from him, but she shared his sentiment. He moved closer, pressing the length of his body against hers. Her reaction was powerful. His hands rested on her hips and he kissed the side of her neck. How often had he sought to distract her like this? It worked almost every time. It took every ounce of will power she possessed not to turn in his arms. Against her will, her head lolled back against his chest and he accepted the invitation to run his lips over the pulse point on the right side of her throat. She swallowed a groan and suppressed a tremor.

She had made a huge mistake once, allowing their physical relationship to overshadow their problems. Instead of addressing the issues that faced them, they'd buried them under the veneer of physical love. Planting an already troubled relationship on such shaky ground had been their biggest mistake. When shaken by the weight of the problems they'd faced, the supports had crumbled. She would not make the same mistake twice.

Reluctantly, she lifted her head away from his chest and said, "Bobby, we have to talk."

She knew he heard the effort it took to keep her voice even. When he stepped back, she felt his departure like a physical loss and almost turned to draw him back in. But she knew she had to remain firm. "I'll be right there. Just let me put the chicken in the oven."

He didn't answer, except to lean in and kiss her cheek. When he lightly nipped her ear, and she felt a jolt of electricity strike at the center of her body, she almost caved again. That caused her to wonder which part of her being had missed him most, and she had no answer for that.

She heard the rattle of the pill bottle, and she realized why he'd come into the kitchen. She grabbed a glass, filled it with water and handed it to him. His fingers brushed hers, accidentally this time, but the effect on her was no less profound. "Thank you," he said, an odd, familiar tension in his voice.

"I'll be right there," she promised again.

He swallowed the medicine and took the glass with him back to the living room. She asked him to wait, so he would wait. Sitting heavily, the pain in his shoulder was eclipsed by a far more urgent need. But she was right to put him off for the moment. Whatever he had done to shatter their previous attempt at a relationship, he was desperate to avoid it this time around. It was extremely rare for life to grant him any form of second chance, and he was not going to blow it, not with her. She was too important to him.

She came into the living room ten minutes later, sitting beside him on the couch. Neither spoke at first. Finally, Eames said, "I did us a huge disservice, letting our physical relationship eclipse our emotional one. We have to deal with the issues facing us before we can settle back into any kind of relationship." She was silent for a moment before adding, "I can't take losing you again."

"It wasn't you. I was the one who...destroyed us."

She shook her head adamantly. "We both had a hand in it, Bobby. Neither of us bears the full blame."

"So...what do we do?"

"We start by talking." She was quiet for a moment. "I've had a chance to do a lot of thinking. I came to realize you have a tendency to compartmentalize your life, and when I crossed the line from the professional to the personal, you didn't quite know what to do with me."

He nodded. "Those two parts of my life had never intersected like that before. But...I love you..."

"That wasn't enough when you refused to deal with the emotional fallout of your life. I know it was difficult for you to lose your mother, but you shut me out, too. I never understood that."

"My...my mother was always my burden to bear. I...suppose I resented your attempt to intrude into that part of my life. Once...everything started to, uh...slip away...I wasn't able to bring it back." He looked at his hands. "I didn't care about losing any of it...except you."

"You never came to me," she replied, trying not to make it sound like an accusation. "Not even through Skoda."

"I..." His shoulders slumped. "I didn't know how," he whispered.

"And you just slipped further and further away. You left me no choice..." She looked away to hide her tears. "But to let you go."

He closed his eyes. "You were angry..."

"I was hurt."

He flinched at the almost physical pain caused by the memories of their discord. "You...we...we fought all the time..."

She nodded. She had not handled being pushed away by him very well. "Because you continued to push me away."

His next question held more importance to the reestablishment of their relationship than any other he could have asked. "Is there...a way to fix it?"

She felt deeply reassured by the fact that he wanted to fix whatever had gone so wrong between them, but she also recognized that it would not be an easy fix. There were going to be setbacks and she had to know that he was not going to overreact to every bump in the admittedly rocky road they were on. "There's always a way, if you're willing to try. But it's going to take time...and work." She studied him closely. "And commitment."

He was very quiet before he looked up and met her eyes. "I will do anything for you."

She could not prevent her hand from reaching toward him and caressing his cheek. "It's so good to see emotion in those eyes again."

He turned his head to press his lips into her palm. "You put it there."

The heat that radiated from her palm was undeniable. She slid her hand along his cheek, into his hair, and leaned forward to kiss him. Pulling back, she said quietly, "I am going to make you a promise, but I want one from you in exchange."

He nodded. "All right."

She was encouraged by the fact that he did not question what that promise might be or hesitate to agree to make it. "We both made mistakes that drove us apart. I know I reacted to your withdrawal with anger, and I realize all that did was make you retreat even more. We got caught in a vicious circle. I am going to try not to do that any more. I can't promise I'll never get angry with you. That would be a foolish promise to make. Besides, if we never fought, how could we make up?"

There was a glow in his eyes at that comment that warmed her heart. When he spoke, she heard the sincerity in his tone. "And from me...you want a promise that I will try not to withdraw from you. I can't promise how successful I will be at it all the time, but I can promise that I'll try." He reached toward her, gently fingering her hair. "I...will do my best to give you whatever you want, Alex. I...I don't do well...without you."

She pressed her head against his hand. "So I see. And I'm not much better without you. I think we'll be okay, Bobby. As long as we're both willing to work on it...and we keep talking, especially when things don't seem to be going right."

"That much I can promise you."

"That's all I need to hear."

She leaned closer and kissed him. "Now let me go finish dinner."

His hand reached out and cradled her hip. "The chicken will take an hour."

Smiling, she kissed him again, teasing his lips with her tongue before drawing his lower lip between her teeth and lightly nipping him. She got up suddenly and went into the kitchen. He stayed where he was for a few minutes, regaining his equilibrium. Then he got up and went into the bedroom, retrieving the necklace he'd gotten at _Zale's_ when they had gone shopping. He opened the porcelain box and studied the necklace, even more convinced now that she would like it. Closing the box, he left the room and went into the kitchen.

She was busy with an assortment of salad ingredients. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a cola, and casually asked, "Do you know what day today is?"

She frowned. "Uh, the twelfth or thirteenth, I think."

"Almost." He stepped up behind her, reaching around to hand her the white porcelain box. "Happy Valentine's Day, Alex."

She took the box and turned to look at him, her eyes bright with tears of affection and joy. "Bobby...Valentine's..."

He averted his eyes. "You're my only Valentine," he murmured uncertainly. "My only..." he trailed off and bit his lower lip.

She opened the box and stared at the necklace. Pulling out the card tucked into the lid of the box, she read the careful printing. _Alex, This heart represents a journey of the heart: my heart, back to you. Confusion and uncertainty took me away, but it was love that brought me back to stay. Please understand. I never meant to hurt you, and I will make it up to you if it takes the rest of my life...if you'll let me hang around that long. But regardless of what happens, I love you. With all my heart, Bobby._

By the time she got to the end of his writing, tears blurred her eyes. She tucked the card back into the lid and set the box on the counter. Turning toward him, she took the can of cola from his hand, placed it on the counter beside the box, then stepped into his arms. Leaning up, she kissed him deeply, burying her hand in his hair and pressing her body against his to back him out of the kitchen. "What about the chicken?" he muttered when she stopped to take a breath.

Pressing him backwards onto the couch, she straddled him, continuing her assault of his mouth. Taking a breath and a half interlude, she met his eyes and replied, 'The hell with the chicken."

He continued to look deeply into her eyes, and he gave her that one last thing she had been waiting for. He smiled at her. With a soft sob of joy, she attacked him again. Their Valentine dinner was very well done.


	14. How Far He Fell

Eames had settled against the pillows, content, as Goren rested his head against her chest, listening to the pounding of her heart as it calmed. His hand caressed her abdomen while hers gently rubbed his back. He had recovered quickly and was now beginning to drift toward sleep. "Bobby?"

Her voice drew him back. "Hmm?"

"I was wondering..."

"What?"

"Have you tied up all your loose ends here?"

He was quiet as his mind searched for anything he might have missed. "Uh, I think so. I gave Fisher my notice and let my landlord know I wouldn't be renewing my lease. I talked to my old landlord in New York and found an apartment, put in termination requests for my utilities and called the movers. I think that's everything."

She was quiet for a moment, but he knew she wasn't done, so he waited, struggling to stay awake. Quietly, she said, "What about Miss Inconsequential?"

He tensed. "Uh, what about her?"

"Aren't you going to call her to tell her good-bye?"

"No."

That answer surprised her. "No? Why not?"

"Believe me, Alex. If she never sees me again, it will not be a surprise for her. Every good-bye had the potential to be just that. She won't miss me."

"I don't believe you."

He sighed heavily. "I was a good time for her, nothing more. I have no desire to call her or see her. She has nothing to offer me any more...and I have no interest in her."

She was struggling not to get mad. "And what about her? She doesn't deserve a definitive good-bye?"

"She doesn't need one, Alex. Look, if I give you her number so you can call her, will that satisfy you?"

"You really don't intend to call her?"

He had his reasons for not wanting to call her, reasons he doubted she would understand. "No. I don't."

"Fine. Then yes, I'll call her. I remember what it felt like, Bobby."

He tensed again. "It's different with her. I had a real relationship with you, on several levels. I had nothing like that with her."

"Right is right, Bobby...unless...she's not a..."

When she trailed off, he smiled. "A prostitute? No. She's not. She's almost 30, she just finished college and she was never interested in more than an occasional visit, no strings attached, which is just what I needed."

She felt unsettled by his description. "Does she have a name?"

"Kellie. Her number's in my phone. Help yourself. I'm not trying to hide anything."

She looked at the time. Almost nine. It wasn't too late. So she slid out of the bed as he rolled onto his back. As she pulled on his shirt and retrieved his phone, he lit a cigarette. He wasn't surprised when she left the room, and all he hoped was that she would not return angry or disgusted. What happened was done. He managed to...get by, neither striving for nor expecting more. He hoped Eames understood that much.

Eames told herself there was no reason for her to be nervous as she scrolled through the brief list of contacts in his phone, surprised to find her number in it, given the fact he only called her once. Kellie was the third contact, after Fischer and just before Logan. Highlighting Kellie's name, she pressed 'send.'

The woman answered promptly, on the second ring. Eames knew she would be expecting Bobby, and she wasn't wrong. There was a seductive tone to the cooing voice. _Hello, lover._

Eames felt her gut tighten. "No," she answered. "This isn't him."

There was a moment of silence. The seductive purr left the tone, but Eames could tell she was intoxicated. She started early. _Is something wrong with him?_

"No. I was just paying you a courtesy call. Bobby will be leaving the state, so you won't be hearing from him anymore."

_Oh. That's too bad for me. Are you his new...squeeze? _she asked with a giggle.

Eames frowned. "I'm an old friend. I came out to help him."

_That was nice of you. Hey, if you can get him in bed...he's fun drunk...but if you can get him stoned... wow._

"Thanks, but I think I prefer him clear-headed."

There was a moment of silence, then she giggled again, which annoyed Eames. _Clear-headed...? We never tried that._ She made a contemplative sound, then a 'hmpf' of dismissal. _Well, thanks for calling. Tell him bye for me...unless he wants to see me one more time, to, uh, say good-bye. I'll never turn that guy away, not the way he is in bed. Bye!_

The line went dead and Eames closed the phone. He had not lied about the lack of attachment between him and Kellie. She was neither surprised nor upset about his departure. At most, she was disappointed. Like everything else in this life he had concocted for himself, there was no depth there at all. Everything was so superficial. She wondered what to expect once they got back to New York. The Bobby she knew had been complex and fascinating, a man of many layers. She wondered how many of those layers had been lost over the last year or two.

She knew that if she went back into the bedroom annoyed it would be counterproductive and he would only get defensive. She went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. His choice of a playmate was a ditzy co-ed...very not his style, but where was the surprise in that? The man she found out here was about as far from her gentle, good-hearted partner as he could get. It was going to take time and effort—and a lot of patience on her part—but she was willing to put in the effort to get him back. She was encouraged by the glimpses of her Bobby that she saw in him, and that was what she chose to focus on.

About two hours later, she returned to the bedroom, her annoyance mostly gone. He was sleeping deeply, which was good to see. That was one of the biggest benefits of their love-making for him—he slept deeply and well. She still loved that she could do that to him. Few people could touch that energy, and she derived great satisfaction from the fact that she could wear him down, even a little.

In a way, she understood why he hated to sleep. It was during sleep that he was most vulnerable to the past that haunted him. Awake, he could suppress his memories, chase them away with distractions. He did not have that option when he slept. Then, he was wide open to the things that tormented him. His mother, she was certain, returned to torture him with her criticisms of what a terrible son and brother he had been. His father, too, would toss in his own belittlement of the son who disappointed him. His failures loomed large in the realm of dreams, and of those failures, she wondered if any troubled him more than what they once had, what he had once held onto so tightly, then let slip away through his fingers to be lost, in his mind, forever. He was so hard on himself.

She slid into the bed beside him. In his sleep, he turned toward her and draped his arm around her waist, drawing her close. He rested his head low enough on her shoulder that his cheek rested comfortably on her breast. She smiled in spite of herself. Some things never changed, and his desire for contact, for reassurance, even in his sleep, was one of those things.

She played with his hair and rubbed his back. He sighed softly and what little tension remaining in him faded. She felt as reassured by the close contact between them as he did. She had missed him more than she ever thought she would. She snuggled deeper into his embrace and she also soon slept.

* * *

She should have been used to his tendency to need less sleep than she did, even after an injury. Her body began to respond to his gentle touch before her brain kicked in and woke her. As a result, she woke under the impact of full arousal, covering his mouth with a hungry kiss. 

He welcomed her passionate response and neither of them put a moment of thought into their bodies' responses to one another. It was nice to not think while fully sober for a change. When conscious thought returned, there was no guilt or regret associated with it, and no curiosity, wondering exactly what had transpired in the hours before he stumbled home and collapsed, usually on the couch. He wasn't sure he ever made it to the bed.

Holding her against him, he skimmed his hand up and down her back as she snuggled into him, dozing lightly. Here was another novelty in his current life. He could not remember ever snuggling afterward, and he never woke with Kellie, or anyone else, in his bed. Once, he'd woken in Kellie's bed. The events that transpired after waking led him to simply not show up for work at all, and Fisher had come down hard on him. He understood why, but at the time, it had not mattered to him. Still, after that he had somehow always managed to make it home. Kellie had given him a freedom he'd never allowed himself before, but it was an artificial freedom, driven mostly by alcohol. She'd met his needs, and he'd given her a good time, which was all she ever wanted. Looking back, he saw that Fisher had cut him so much slack it wasn't funny. As long as he did his job, there was a lot to which the captain turned a blind eye. He never asked for it, but he owed the man a huge debt. He would not have survived long after losing his job, and the captain seemed to intuitively know that. He wondered how often he'd covered for him, but even more, he wondered why. He made up his mind to talk to Fisher one more time before he left.

He slid out of bed carefully and left Eames sleeping. He showered and dressed, sliding his arm into its sling as he walked to the kitchen. Opening a beer, he made coffee and scrambled some eggs. When the eggs and toast were ready, he carried a plate and two coffee cups to the bedroom, waking her gently. She smiled at him as she stretched and uttered a hum of contentment. He skimmed a hand lightly over her ribcage and smiled as she said, "Breakfast in bed. Nice touch."

He shrugged. "I was up; you weren't. So I made breakfast. Since you're still in bed..."

He trailed off, making contact with her eyes and smiling. She touched his cheek. "That's nice to see."

"What is?"

"That smile. It's not artificial—I can see it in your eyes."

He shifted a little where he sat beside her, a hand resting absently on her hip. "I've never given you a fake smile."

She took a bite of egg. "No, you haven't. And you haven't lost your touch in the kitchen, either."

He smiled again at the compliment. His thumb grazed her hip. "Um, did you reach Kellie last night?"

"I did. Nine at night and she was already three sheets to the wind. Did you know it never occurred to her to bed you sober? She has no idea what she missed."

A look of panic touched his face. They talked about that? _Oh, no..._ "Um...what else did she say?"

Eames looked thoughtful. "Well...she said to tell you 'bye.'"

He couldn't help laughing softly at her imitation of Kellie's perky manner. "That's it?"

"Pretty much." He picked up his coffee cup as she added, "Oh, she did have some advice for me."

He choked on a mouthful of coffee, frowning at her as she smiled. "Not nice," he managed once he caught his breath.

She laughed. "Forgive me if I get one in from time to time. You have a lot of making up to do."

"Granted. But if you make me choke to death, how am I going to make anything up to you?" He set his cup down. "What was her advice?"

"If I ever manage to get you in bed, she said you're fun drunk, and I agree with that assessment." She watched him shift nervously. "But her recommendation was getting you stoned."

He leaned forward, bracing his elbow on his knee and rubbing his temple. Unbidden, memories of the first time that had happened entered his mind and his body reacted to the memory. Only half-drunk, he'd had enough presence of mind to turn down her offer of a hit from her joint. What he hadn't expected was the deep kiss that followed and, taking advantage of his distraction, the exhalation of smoke from her lungs into his mouth in conjunction with expert fondling that had ensured a deep intake of breath at the same moment. She'd been a wildcat that night, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Excuse me," he murmured, getting up and leaving the room.

Eames had not expected her teasing to drive him away. She set her plate aside, pulled on his shirt from last night and ran after him. "Bobby?"

He was pacing the living room, clearly agitated. "I wasn't passing judgment, Bobby..."

He waved a hand at her. "I know...I know..."

A long time ago they had discussed their teen years, alcohol use, experimental pot use—curiosity and rebellion on her part, coping on his...all the normal teen things they had done. He had even discussed his years in narcotics, some of the things his undercover work had forced him into. She knew him better than anyone did, but she was at a loss to understand his agitation.

He turned suddenly and pulled her against him, kissing her hard, and he hated himself for needing her as a result of the memories of something that had never involved her. Part of him still belonged to the man he had become, a man he hated, as he found his way back to being the man he once was, a man he could live with.

He took her breath away and confused her. Gently, she stroked his sides and his back, calming him. Gradually, his kiss softened and his arms eased their hold on her. He pulled back a little. "I-I'm sorry," he began.

She touched his lips with her fingertips. Softly she asked, "Would you promise me something?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the fingers that rested against his lips. "Yes," he replied, willing at that moment to promise her anything she wanted.

Her fingers slipped away and he opened his eyes halfway. She had not moved away; their bodies remained in contact. Her breath flitted lightly over his skin as she whispered, "No more beer for breakfast. Please."

He nodded. "I promise."

Her hands stroked their way up his back and she buried her fingers in his hair, easing him once more into a tender kiss. Her hands explored his skin as she deepened the kiss and he tumbled again toward arousal, but this time it was all her. He eased her toward the couch, and there was no one on his mind, no one arousing his desire, except her. Slowly, he was healing, mind, body and soul, and he had her to thank for all of it.


	15. A Rocky Road Back

It was a quiet but moderately busy pub. Eames remembered that Goren had a knack for finding quaint, quiet places off the beaten path. He had never been one for crowds or convention. In all the years she had known him, the word 'trendy' had never once crossed her mind in reference to him. Sitting in a booth toward the back of the small pub, they had finished eating and were waiting for Lou Fisher. Eames was very pleased that he was eating well and regularly; he was obviously feeling much better. But she did question his decision to stop his pain medication, and her skepticism was reinforced by the tension in his body and the drawn look on his face. The two drinks he had with dinner helped, and once the meal was done, his consumption gradually increased.

She watch him slowly relax, but some of his tension remained. She sensed that he was unsettled about meeting the captain, though she wasn't sure just why. He told her there were some things he needed to square with Fisher. He had been quiet and distracted through dinner, and his attention was now focused on his glass. Eames did not press him for details; this was between him and Fisher. She was only there to support him, because he had asked her to come along. She took a sip of her vodka martini and watched him.

He lifted his drink to his lips and gazed at her over the glass. He was not hiding anything from her. When he decided he needed to talk to Fisher one last time, he included her in the invitation. She might not like the things she heard over the course of the conversation, but what was done was done. He was neither proud nor ashamed of the way his life had gone; he did not care enough to be reflective. Now, he was taking a kind of interest in what had transpired, but only to set things right with the one man who deserved to hear what he had to say. He owed Fisher more than just a good-bye. An explanation of sorts would be nice; gratitude was even better. As for anything Eames might find out that she didn't already know or suspect...he learned the hard way that keeping things from her definitely led to a fall, and he had fallen far enough. He was not going to repeat the same mistake. He was opening his life to her in a way he never had before to prove that she was so much more than the "fuck buddy" she once told him she had become to him. He was confident he would not survive losing her again. He finished his drink.

Reaching past the empty glass, he touched her hand lightly. She wrapped her fingers around his. Keeping his eyes on hers, he raised her fingers to his lips and gently kissed each one in turn. With all that had happened between them over the past two years or so, Eames had forgotten how he could turn almost any action sensual. Her eyes glowed with a heat that intensified with each brush of his lips over her skin. He felt his jeans tighten as he reacted to the desire in her eyes.

As the waitress set a fresh glass in front of him and took his empty one, Fisher approached the table. He gave his drink order to the waitress before she departed, then turned to the couple at the table as Goren withdrew his hand from Eames'. He had not missed the tender interaction between them as he approached, and he smiled at them. "Am I interrupting?"

"No," Goren answered as Fisher slid into the booth beside Eames. He turned to her and his smile widened. "It's good to see you again, Detective Eames."

He looked across the table at Goren, pleased by the man's healthier appearance. Clean shaven, smartly dressed in jeans and an open collared shirt, Goren gave the captain a brief smile. "Thank you for coming, sir."

"I admit you have piqued my curiosity, detective, but that's hardly anything new."

The waitress returned with his Jack and coke, and he thanked her. Then he turned his attention to the couple he had joined. "So...what's up?"

Goren leaned back in his seat, trailing his finger through the sweat on the outside of his glass. "I, um, I have had some time to think, Captain. I know I always did my job, sometimes better than I should have. I...I understand why Taylor and the others left. I know they were afraid of my...self-destructive tendencies."

Fisher nodded. "Taylor told me flat out he did not want to be responsible in any way for your death."

He took a drink. "That's fair. I also realized that you..." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "You...kind of knew what was going on, didn't you?"

Fisher was quiet. He looked at Eames, then back at Goren as he raised his glass to his mouth and set it back down. "That depends on what you mean. I know next to nothing about you."

"But you knew..."

When he trailed off, Fisher filled in. "That you drank a hell of a lot more than was good for you? Yes. That your assignments sometimes led you to using, and you never reported it, even to your partner? Yes. That you were playing with fire and fixing to get burned? Yes."

Goren shifted uncomfortably, surprised Fisher knew that much. "You covered for me."

It almost sounded like an accusation, but Fisher was used to Goren's defensiveness. "More than once, yes, I did."

Goren's mouth drew into a taut line. Eames could tell he wasn't pleased, but she wasn't sure why. Perhaps he read his captain's concern as charity, or worse, pity. She wished now that she was seated beside him, so she could ease his tension without Fisher noticing, but he was beyond her physical reach, almost. Noticing the tension in his body and the set of his jaw, she gently kicked his shin, drawing his attention momentarily toward her. He held her gaze briefly and he calmed as he asked, "Why?"

Fisher swirled the liquid in his glass and took another drink. "There is no easy answer to that question, Goren. Your police work is very good. Your investigations are solid and your confessions hold up in court. You brought us in striking distance of a dealer we'd been trying to nail for five years, and you got him good." Fisher smiled at the memory of that collar and conviction. It had been a huge feather in his cap, and he owed that kudos to Goren. It had been one of his strongest bargaining chips when the brass questioned the man's fitness for duty. He went on, "Getting forced to use...every narcotics cop faces that at one time or another to protect his cover, and his life. You should have said something, but I never saw any indication it was chronic, and whatever was going on with you, it never interfered with your job, so I respected your desire for privacy." He paused for a moment. "I tried reaching out to you, but you wanted no part of it. So I had to be satisfied with keeping an eye on you. I never felt anything was so far out of control I had to intervene. Intervention would have made things miserable for you, and I never got to the point where I felt the need to do that to you...not until recently."

"You might have," Goren said, studying his glass. "If you had known..."

Fisher waited, but Goren did not continue or look up. "If I had known what?" he pushed.

Goren remained quiet, so Eames answered the captain. "If you had known how bad he really was. He is very good at keeping things hidden from everyone, until it's just about too late."

Fisher's gaze remained fastened on Goren. "I do wish I had called her sooner," he commented.

Goren stared at the amber liquid in his glass and replied, "So do I."

The captain looked at the woman beside him, but her attention was riveted on Goren and he understood that. He'd seen the worry in her from the moment he met her. He turned his attention back to Goren. "Why didn't you call her?"

Goren sighed, finally looking up and shifting his gaze from Fisher to Eames. "That's...complicated." With a heavy sigh, he finished his drink and focused on Fisher. "I_ was_ playing with fire, but I didn't get burned. I got singed. Thank you, Captain Fisher. You...did more than I deserved."

"Am I correct in assuming you didn't always flirt with disaster?"

Slowly, Goren nodded and Eames said, "It used to be just an occasional pastime."

Fisher couldn't help being amused, and he saw a brief flicker of warmth in Goren's eyes. Still curious, he asked, "So what happened?"

The emotion left Goren's face as he looked toward the table. "Life became overwhelming for me. My mother developed lymphoma and died, and I succeeded in driving away everyone who was close to me." He looked at Eames, then shifted his eyes back toward the table top. "When I lost Eames, I lost...everything."

Fisher was confused. "Lost her?"

Eames let out a heavy sigh, her mood suddenly remorseful. "I lost my ability to reach him. He retreated so far into himself, none of us could reach him. I had to..." She stopped when her voice threatened to falter and Goren looked up, his brow furrowed. Fisher watched a non-descript pain settle across his face, and finally, he understood. When she trusted her voice again, Eames softly finished, "I had to let him go...and nothing ever hurt me more."

Fisher sensed an emotionally charged connection between the couple, and he knew it was time for him to leave. He addressed Goren. "I would have done more, but I could only do as much as you would allow...and then I called her." He finished his drink and said, "I have a date, so I'd better get going." He slid out of the booth, and so did Goren. They shook hands. "You always came through for me, which made the headache worth it. I will miss you, Goren."

Goren hesitated and shifted uncertainly. Eames saw the drinks he had consumed beginning to show in his mildly staggered movements, but if Fisher noticed, and Eames assumed he did, he gave no indication. Goren concentrated on what he wanted to say. "All I've had since I came here was my job. Without that, I would have had nothing. Thank you for not taking that away, Captain."

Fisher smiled. "I was always honest when I defended you as a good officer. Even now, I hate to lose you, but these are good circumstances for you." He gave Goren's uninjured shoulder an affectionate punch. "Take care of yourself for a change...and good luck."

With a wave to Eames, he strolled through the pub toward the exit. Goren watched him leave and he slid back into the booth. The waitress picked up the two empty glasses, leaving another scotch in front of him. Quietly, Eames said, "You got lucky with Fisher."

"I know. He turned a blind eye to a lot."

"If that had come down on him..."

Goren shook his head, hurt that she could think he would drag anyone else down with him. "I _never_ compromised my job," he snapped, almost angry. "Nothing I did in my own time would have come back on him. Besides, I always owned up to my mistakes and I never let another man take the fall for something I did."

She backed off, sensing his anger. His integrity was always something he valued, and she admired him for that. Seeking to avoid pushing him further toward anger, she reached her hand across the table toward him. He looked at her hand for a moment, and his anger faded as he threaded his fingers with hers. She sandwiched his hand between both hers and squeezed, but she didn't feel the same warm comfort and heated desire that had been there before and that troubled her. She sensed his agitation, but she was at a loss to identify the source. She thought the conversation with Fisher had gone well.

He could tell she was troubled and he searched his memory for what he could have done to cause it. With a frown, he tightened his fingers over hers and downed the rest of the scotch in his glass. When she squeezed his hand again, he raised his eyes suddenly, and he caught a look he hated seeing in her eyes. He never wanted anyone to feel sorry for him, especially not her. "Don't," he warned quietly.

"Don't what?" she asked, honestly puzzled. When he looked away without answering, she pressed, "What's wrong?"

This was the first test of their reestablished relationship. Eames knew it was unavoidable, but she had hoped it would come later, when he was more secure in what they were struggling to regain. She wasn't certain he was ready for this, but here it was and she couldn't make it disappear. She was, however, prepared to cut him some slack. It was not in his nature to confide in another person when something in his life went awry. That was his part in what had led them to where they were. Her contribution was not trying hard enough to understand him, to accept the way he was and help him cope when the bottom fell out of his life. Now, she waited, tightening her grip on his hand and watching him

He remained silent as she watched him, searching for the source of his unrest. He had hoped coming clean with Fisher would settle him down, but he still felt restless and out-of-sorts. He wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps he thought anger was a more justified response than understanding. Not being able to pinpoint his agitation, coupled with what he saw in her eyes and the drinks he'd had, served to make him irritable, and that just made things worse.

He didn't move when the waitress reappeared with a fresh drink and walked away. He came here often, and the waitresses knew to replenish his drinks until he decided it was time to stumble home. They saw the pain within him and once, they had made the mistake of letting him see that they felt sorry for him. He'd not handled that well, and after that, they were careful to guard their curiosity and sympathy from him. But he still saw it, and that contributed to his bitterness...but he continued to come back. It was close to his apartment, and the staff, in spite of their pity, left him alone. Neither he nor Eames noticed how the two waitresses and the bartender kept getting together, talking and looking their way. They had never seen him come in with anyone before, and they were curious, but their curiosity would never be satisfied.

He didn't react when Eames gently rubbed his forearm. Then she began to trace light circles on the back of his hand and he closed his eyes. Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, he bit down lightly. Finally, choosing to ignore her question about his comment to her, he tried to address her inquiry about what was wrong. Maybe talking would help him to figure it out because his mind was getting jumbled and he was having trouble sorting through it. _Start with the conversation with Fisher..._ "That...didn't go the way I anticipated."

She was confused. "What didn't? The talk with Fisher?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her, nodding. He searched her face, but he saw only concern etched there. He swallowed the lump in his throat, then he chased it with a drink. Eames waited, watching him. "Bobby...I don't understand..." she finally ventured.

He shook his head slowly. "Neither do I." He looked at the tabletop, unconcerned when it tilted and straightened itself. It was a very familiar sensation. "I suppose I was expecting...anger. When...he didn't meet that expectation..." Pausing when he stumbled over the word, he struggled to untangle his thoughts. "I'm not sure what to make of it."

She could see the effects of his alcohol consumption intensifying, but she tried to continue the conversation. "So you're disappointed that Fisher isn't angry with you?"

He did not expect her to understand when he didn't understand himself why he felt the way he did. It had been a long time since he'd _felt _much of anything, much less tried to interpret his feelings. Now he struggled with how to respond to her without irritating her. But all he had to offer was a shrug and a lame, "I guess so."

His inability to express himself better was as disappointing to him as his inability to explain how he felt. Then he was struck by a new fear, intensified by the alcohol in his system. Would she think he was hiding something again? Gripped by a fleeting sense of panic, he stared at her, his fingers tightening on his glass. He couldn't do this...he wasn't going to get it right...and he panicked.

His head began to swim. He swallowed the last of his drink and murmured, "I'm sorry. I let you down again."

He bolted from the booth. Eames sat there for a moment, struggling to decipher his parting comment before deciding it didn't matter. She ran after him.

She caught him halfway down the block, grabbing his arm and spinning him against a building. He wasn't difficult to manhandle when he was drunk, and she pinned him against the side of the building. Her eyes brimmed with tears she couldn't keep away as she drew herself to her full height. "Don't you dare," she growled, her tone a combination of threat and plea as she struggled to catch her breath. "Don't you _dare _sabotage this relationship, you stupid son of a bitch."

He stared into eyes that were bright with fury. Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself bereft of words and he closed it again. She did not release him. "I don't expect miracles," she said, furious. "But I swear if you run away again, I'll let you go."

He shook his head slowly. "I..."

He didn't get any further. Closing his mouth again, he hung his head. She studied him for a moment. "Get your ass back in there, settle our tab, and we'll go back to the apartment. I'll wait for you here."

Releasing him, she stepped back and watched him walk back to the pub. His gait was unsteady, and she wondered how much his alcohol consumption had contributed to his meltdown. His fear had gotten the better of him; she'd seen that in his eyes. Now how was she going to deal with it? Tonight, she would give him the reassurance he needed. Tomorrow, they would deal with what happened. She gave no thought to leaving.

She had some difficulty navigating him home and up the stairs to his floor, but once in the apartment, she had no trouble guiding him to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed as she unbuttoned his shirt, staring with interest at her chest, which she found oddly reassuring. The warm, comfortable feeling she'd experienced at the pub unexpectedly returned. Her fingers skimmed over warm skin and soft hair before she gently pushed him back onto the pillows. Tenderly, she stroked his cheek as he tried to focus his vision on her face. She smiled and an odd thought crashed into her head. He was adorable. She'd never thought that before when dealing with him drunk. Something had changed, and it wasn't a bad thing. She always reached a point where she felt she couldn't love him more, and he always did something to prove her wrong. "Don't leave me," she whispered suddenly, wondering where the sentiment had come from.

"Leave you?" he replied, oddly coherent but fading quickly.

She kissed him suddenly, a kiss delivering equal portions of desperation and love to a blurry mind and impaired senses. His fingers traced the side of her face and she found him returning the kiss with passion. She drew back, but not far, wondering how much he would remember in the morning. For tonight, she had succeeded in her goal to reassure him, and she meant it. "Go to sleep," she encouraged, brushing her lips lightly over his once more before adding, "I love you, you stupid ox."

He was already mostly asleep, but he smiled at that, and she saw the sparkle of amusement she had once seen often in his eyes. "I love you, too," he replied, neither hesitating nor doubting his reply.

She watched him fade to sleep, laying on his back, which was not his usual sleeping position. One arm was folded over his chest, the other rested on his stomach. Brushing her fingers over his lips, she stood and left him to sleep. She sat on the couch for a long time, trying to figure out what could possibly have caused him to panic. All she got for her effort was a headache. He was still floundering, to an extent, and she knew his emotional lability would stabilize once he settled and became secure with their relationship again. Then she wondered if he had ever truly been secure in it, and she accepted her share of the blame for that. When their partnership became rocky, the worst thing they could have done was step into a physical relationship without first addressing their problems. The escalation of their relationship came at an unfortunate time in his life, serving only to reinforce the instability he'd come to expect from everything. But he had come to learn one important thing: if she was not a part of his life, it was not a life he wanted to live.

She didn't know how long it would take, but she was determined to help him reach a level of security that would eliminate his doubts. It would be a struggle, she was certain, because security and stability were two things that had been conspicuously absent in his life; he was not going to know what to do with them or how to handle them. So she would help him. Getting him home to New York was a big step, but it was also wrought with uncertainty. He'd left a lot behind. She had to help him reconnect with the past so they could have a solid future together. She was reassured by the fact that it had not been difficult to reassure him, in spite of his inebriation, which had caused his panic in the first place.

She looked down the hallway and got to her feet. In the bedroom, she got ready for bed, watching him sleep as she dressed. He had rolled onto his side, which she found reassuring. She slipped off his shoes and, without giving it a second thought, she pulled a blanket over him and slid into the bed beside him. She wasn't certain what he would remember, but if he woke during the night and found her on the couch, his overactive mind would leap to all kinds of wrong conclusions, and she had no desire to trigger another meltdown in his head. So she settled into the warmth of the bed and when she woke in the morning, she was comfortably nestled in his arms.

* * *

**A/N: I have a request, which is not related to this story or any I currently have going, but with one that is in the works. I need someone to participate in a little brainstorming with me. Anyone who is interested, please PM me. Thanks :-)**

* * *


	16. The Morning After

She had just come out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee when she heard him stumbling around in the hall. Sitting on the couch, she waited for him. After a few minutes he came into the living room and looked at her. He looked like a train wreck. "There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," she said, unable to help feeling some sympathy for him. She'd certainly been there before...

He dragged himself into the kitchen. She heard the clink of coffee mugs in the cupboard, then the sound of one shattering in the sink when he dropped it. He swore and she struggled with herself not to go out there and help him. The pieces of mug clinked when he dropped them into the trash. She tried not to cringe when she heard him messing with the coffee pot, relaxing when she heard it being set back into its place intact. The refrigerator opened, then closed, and he came out of the kitchen. He carefully eased himself into the easy chair and looked into his cup. "I...messed up...again..." he murmured.

"I heard. Which cup did you break?"

He looked at her, frowning in confusion. "What...?"

She shook her head. He was in no condition to be teased. She let out a sigh. "You didn't mess up, Bobby. You panicked. I'd like to know why."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You asked me what was wrong, and I couldn't explain that to you. I...let you down."

She frowned. "How do you figure that?"

He waved an impatient hand. "All you've ever asked is for me to let you in, to cue you in to my feelings and let you know what's going on with me. It seems so simple, but it's not. I...tried, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle seeing disappointment on your face."

"So you were going to walk home?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

She leaned forward and cradled her cup. "I don't expect miracles, Bobby. I want you to try. I can't fault your failings. Not being able to explain something and not wanting to are two different things. One we can work through; one we can't."

"Work through?"

For all his brilliance, he could tax the patience of a saint, and she sighed. "Yes. If you are willing to let me in, we can talk through your feelings and figure out what's going on. If you shut me out, there's nowhere left to go. I didn't get the feeling you were shutting me out last night. You were confused, and we can talk through that."

"You were mad..."

"Because you ran, not because you weren't able to put your feelings into words. Bobby, all I want is for you to talk to me, to be willing to share yourself instead of shutting down on me. I want a connection to you."

"A connection..." He looked at her. "Don't you think you have that?"

"What I think isn't the issue here. It's what you think, how you feel, that matters at the moment. I know what I think and how I feel, and so do you. You're the enigma here."

A look of hurt flickered across his face. "Is that what I am? A puzzle to be solved?"

She smiled, not at his hurt but at the fact that he was able to voice it. "It's a part of who you are," she assured him. "A small but fascinating part."

"So what's the big part?"

She set her coffee down and moved from the couch, taking his coffee and setting it beside hers. She grasped his hands and urged him from the chair. Guiding him back to the couch, she sat close beside him and rested her hand on his chest. Unexpectedly, her own heart skipped a beat at the feel of his, thrumming under her hand. Impulsively, she leaned closer and softly kissed him. Sitting back, but keeping her hand on his chest, she said, "The biggest part is the heart that loves me enough to care so much about what I think and feel. I'm not going to make any unreasonable demands of you. Just...talk to me."

Some of the tension seemed to slip away from him, though his brow was still furrowed. She touched his temple and he sighed softly. "I did...panic. Alex, I can't...lose you again."

She shifted closer to him, pressing her thigh against his. Her voice was tentative, soft, and she was careful to avoid putting any accusation in her tone. "I never left you."

She was right. He was the one who'd left. He looked away. She'd known him for a long time, and she had come to understand how his mind worked, something that made her uneasy from time to time. Now, she was grateful for the ability. "You're thinking that you've damaged my trust, that now, it's my turn to walk away, because you once did and you had no plans to come back."

He got up from the couch and she let him go. She'd been able to sense his growing agitation, and he had to burn it off somehow. She understood that, and she watched him pace. It was going to take a lot of effort on her part to get him past the guilt he harbored for abandoning her. "Bobby, stop pacing."

He did as she asked, turning to look at her. Shifting restlessly, he watched her until she got uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She waved at him. "Never mind. Go ahead and pace."

Instead of resuming his pacing, he returned to her side. "Forgive me?" he whispered once he was seated beside her.

"Of course," she replied. "I told you, I don't expect miracles." She reached toward him and lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. "We're making headway," she encouraged.

He frowned. "How are we making headway?"

"You didn't withdraw from me, Bobby. You panicked, but not before you tried to talk to me. It's a step in the right direction. Next time, before you panic, remind yourself that I am in this for the long haul. If you are, too, then relax and we'll work out anything that comes along. You have to trust me, Bobby...and yourself."

He wouldn't look at her. "That's not as easy as it sounds."

"Trusting me?"

"No. Trusting myself. Are you sure you know what you're in for?"

She swallowed a surge of resentment for the mother who had so deeply ingrained a sense of worthlessness in this man. "I'm positive. Bobby, I...invested myself in you a long time ago. I stuck it out, and I have every intention of continuing to do that. But I need to know...do you want this relationship to succeed?"

He ran a hand through his hair and pressed down on the top of his head, closing his eyes against the throbbing behind his eyes. "Yes, Alex. I do."

"Good. Now, are you willing to work for it?"

He propped his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers behind his neck. "Yes," he answered. "I told you. I'll do whatever it takes...not to lose you again."

"The hardest thing for you is going to be letting go of the past," she observed quietly. "You have a hell of a lot of baggage, you know."

He turned his head to look at her, but she could not interpret his expression. After a long pause, he said, "Do you think I don't know that? I have a lifetime of failed relationships to remind me of that." Moving slowly, he held out his hands. "I have a lifetime of...nothing. I've lived up to my parents' expectations." Raising his hand when he sensed an objection brewing, he added, "I don't sugar coat my life, and you never have either. Don't start now; that's the last thing I need from you."

She watched him get to his feet, but there was nothing in his movements to raise any red flags with her. "I will never do that," she assured him. "It's against my nature."

He tipped his head and twisted his torso slightly to look at her, and a small smile played at his mouth. He sighed. "When I take stock of my life, the shelves are bare, and all I have is you. But...that's enough for me. I'm going to take a shower."

She stayed where she was, listening to him rustle about in the bedroom and then close the bathroom door. She heard the shower start to run. She was hoping that when she got him back to New York and settled in a job, possibly even back at Major Case, he would recover the sense of worth he'd lost. In all the years she'd known him, he had been happiest early in their partnership, before his mother's final illness sent his life skidding out of control. She held onto the hope that she could return him to a point in his life where he could at least be content, if not happy. She wasn't sure how much of his old self she would be able to restore, but she was going to try.

Rising from the couch, she began to unbutton her shirt as she walked down the hall. Sliding it from her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor, followed by her bra. She pushed her pants over her hips and kicked off her shoes as she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the steamy interior. Gently she pushed the shower curtain away from the wall and scanned taut muscles well defined by wet skin. "I seem to recall an old hangover remedy..." she said.

Reaching out, she took the bar of soap from his hands and stepped into the tub, soaping her hands as she did. "Want to give it a try?" she asked as she set the bar in the soapdish and held up her lathered hands.

He swallowed hard and blinked back hot tears a second before he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "I love you," he murmured into her hair as the water sprayed over her.

She ran her soapy hands up and down his back, then down his sides. As she rubbed circles over his hips, she turned her face up toward his. "I love you, too," she whispered back, suddenly finding a lump in her throat. "I really do."

He kissed her and whispered, "What was that remedy?"


	17. Options

Eames' hangover cure might not have done much for his hangover, but once she guided him back to the bedroom and into the bed, she was able to coax him back to sleep. That was what he really needed, and it would do more for his hangover than anything else would.

Once he was sleeping deeply, she slid out of the bed, retrieved her discarded clothes and dressed. From the corner of the living room, she got a box, unfolded it and secured the bottom with packing tape. Using a great deal of care, she began to pack his books. As she read each title, her heart swelled with deep affection for him.

She'd emptied one bookcase and started on the second one when her cell phone rang. She stopped working to search for it. Checking the missed call, she smiled and called her partner. "Checking up on me, Logan?" she asked when he answered.

_You bet I am._ His tone changed to one of concern. _How is he?_

"He's doing okay. The moving company will be here first thing Monday morning and then we'll hit the road. We should be home by the end of the week."

_How does he feel about coming back?_

"Uncertain. Very uncertain. He thinks he left behind a whole lot of burned bridges so he's not expecting anything. At least, not anything positive."

Logan was quiet as he thought about that. _He knows I'm still on his side. And he's got you._

"Yes, and we're about the only ones he's counting on. Has Ross said anything?"

_He's been on the warpath with the chief. It's been pleasant around here. He wants him back, but the chief's giving him a hard time._

"I'm not so sure Bobby wants to come back to Major Case."

_Really? So what's he going to do?_

"He mentioned an offer he once got from the FBI. He thinks it still stands. He'd be attached to the New York office, but he'd answer to the profiling unit in Quantico. He has options, Mike, but I'm not sure how he feels about either job at this point. We still have issues to work out."

Logan sighed. _How do you feel about either job?_

She had been thinking about that since he told her about the FBI offer, trying to separate what was best for him from what she wanted. He loved working Major Case, and if Ross could get him back on the squad, so much the better, but he was not going to juggle partners. Bobby would have to work with another partner. Perhaps, if he didn't do so well, Ross might switch them around, but after all that had happened when their personal and professional relationships disintegrated, the captain was naturally gunshy. And he knew they were involved. Ross would be more inclined to partner him with Logan than with her again. But right now, all she cared about was getting him home.

The FBI offer was right up his alley, and the Bureau was known for tolerating misfits. A man like Goren would not only be welcome, he would be a strong asset for the profiling unit. The Bureau knew he was a brilliant profiler, and she had a feeling they had been trying to woo him away from NYPD for years. But Goren had been happy in the department, until recently, and she knew she was as much responsible for that contentment as she was for his ultimate downfall.

She sighed. "I think he should take the FBI offer."

_Seriously?_

"Seriously. He's not going to do well with another partner, Mike. The FBI would be an entirely different direction for him, and he would get to do what he does best. I don't know. Maybe we were too close. Maybe this is just what the doctor ordered. We'll see each other every day, but we'll also get a break from one another. And he trusts you. My being partners with you is not going to be an issue for him. The department has problems tolerating men like Bobby. He doesn't fit in, and they do not like people marching to the beat of any drummer but their own. I think he needs to move on."

_How did he do out there?_

"He was walking a tightrope between life and death, and he wasn't particularly concerned with which way it went. He was reckless, but only with his own life. He still carried a level of caring for others with him. He never put a partner at risk."

_What department was he with?_

"He went back to Narcotics. There's a lot less involvement with other officers."

_And a lot more potential for trouble._

"That, too." She sighed. "He's lucky he's still alive."

_It was a good thing you went out there when you did, Alex._

"It was almost too late. I'd better go. We'll see you next week. Let the captain know I'll only need another week."

_Will do. Drive carefully, and call if you need anything._

"Thanks, Mike."

She closed the phone and set it on the coffee table, returning to packing. She knew that of everything he owned, his books were among the few things he cared about. He would want them properly packed, and he trusted her enough to pack them. Ultimately, it was trust that was the cement that held them together. With that, they could rebuild anything.

* * *

By the time he got up, she was just about done. He stood on the other side of the room, watching in silence as she gathered the books from the lower shelves and carefully packed them.

When she turned to grab the tape, she was surprised to see him there. She shook her finger at him. "You are too stealthy for your size."

He smiled and nodded at the neatly stacked boxes in front of the bookcases. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know. I didn't have anything else to do. You don't mind, do you?"

He shook his head. "No."

She taped the box closed. "Do you feel better?"

"Some."

He approached her, taking the box from her arms and adding it to the stack. Turning back to her, he watched her again. She reached her hand toward him and waited for him to take it. "You don't have to wait for my lead. I know it's hard for you to be spontaneous, but try. It could be fun."

Spontaneous was not something he had ever been good at. Growing up, every time he tried it, he ended up in deep trouble. It had earned him more than one beating and he learned quickly that he just was no good at spontaneity, unless he was in an interrogation. He closed his hand around hers. "I don't know, Alex. I'm not really any good at being spontaneous."

"The necklace you gave me was spontaneous. That didn't backfire on you."

He focused his attention on their hands. She leaned forward without warning and kissed him. He looked up at her. "Spontaneous," she said with a smile.

Releasing her hand, he placed both hands on her hips and pulled her against him, leaning closer to kiss her deeply. She relaxed and slid her arms around him, surrendering to his embrace. His hand found its way under the edge of her shirt and he began to back up, pulling her across the living room..

She wondered what kind of tell it was that the first place for his confidence to return was in the bedroom. Then she decided it didn't matter. He was on his way back, and the first point of his return just happened to also be her favorite one. It was funny how life worked out sometimes.


	18. You Wanted Spontaneity

By the time the movers had emptied the apartment, it was early afternoon. While Goren packed their bags in the trunk of the car, Eames turned in his key to the super. She joined him at the car as he closed the trunk, placing a hand on his back with a smile. "Are you ready to go?"

He folded his arms around her and drew her against his chest, holding her. She rested her head on his chest where his jacket fell open, listening to the beat of his heart as she snaked her arms around his waist to return the hug. He pressed his lips against her head. "Let's go," he said.

Stepping from his embrace, she held out her hand for the keys. He looked at her hand and, with a warm smile, dropped the keys into it. "I've missed you, Eames."

Returning his smile, she reached out to caress his cheek before turning away. He watched her slide behind the wheel before he walked around to the passenger side. Eames started the engine and pulled away from the complex. He never looked back.

* * *

When they stopped for the night in Salt Lake City, it was almost midnight. Eames got the room while Goren got the bags and they went into the building. She took a hot bath to unwind, and he poured himself a drink from the bottle of scotch in one of his bags. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he placed it back in the bag and took the glass out onto the balcony, looking out over the diamond glitter of the city that spread out before him. It was a cold night, and he watched the fog of his breath drift away on the breeze. He was on his way home. It was a thought both comforting and unsettling, and he could not decide which he felt more strongly. His mother was gone. The only ties he had to the city were emotional. Were they strong enough to beckon him home? No. He was going home for one person, the one who meant more to him than his own life. He had no other reason to return to New York, except Eames.

As he studied the sky and the city, nursing the drink in his hand, the balcony door slid open. Eames smiled when he looked at her. "Hey, it's cold out here."

Her wet hair stuck to her cheek as she pulled the robe tighter around her. "I'll be right in," he promised.

"Are you all right?"

He smiled as his eyes unconsciously skimmed over her body. "I'm fine, Alex. Go on. Before you get pneumonia."

She stepped back into the warm room and he looked back out across the city toward the Great Salt Lake. He could smell the salt in the air. It was a good smell. He looked toward the sky, crisp and clear with a bright moon nestled into the velvet darkness. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Swirling the last of the scotch in the glass, he swallowed it and returned to the room.

Eames was laying on the bed, reading. She looked over the top of the book at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded as he set the glass on the dresser. "Yes."

Walking over to the bed, he sat on the edge, facing her. Gently brushing her hair behind her ear with one hand, he took the book from her hands with the other and set it on the nightstand. Without moving his hand from the side of her head, he drew her closer and kissed her. Against her mouth, he murmured, "Spontaneous."

With a laugh, she threw her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

* * *

The next day, while they were eating lunch in Cheyenne, Wyoming, Eames' phone rang. She pulled it out, smiled at the caller ID and flipped it open. "Why do I get the feeling you really are checking up on me, Logan?"

_Why would I be checking up on you?_

"Because Ross wants to know what's going on."

He laughed. _Well there is that...Where are you?_

"Cheyenne, Wyoming."

Logan paused. _Can I talk to him?_

With a soft smile, she handed Goren the phone. He looked at it. "Take it, Bobby. Mike wants to say hello."

Reluctantly, he took the phone and held it to his ear. "Hello, Mike."

_Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?_

"I'm doing all right. How have you been?"

_Good, but I've missed you. Alex is a good partner, but she's not much of a drinking buddy. Personally, I'd rather watch the Mets play with you. You sound a hell of a lot better than you did the last time I talked to you._

Goren got very still, and Eames looked up. He was looking out the window, a storm of emotion crossing his face. Finally, he said, "Thanks for looking out for her, Mike. We'll see you soon."

He handed the phone back to her and excused himself. "Mike?" Eames said into the phone.

_Uh, what'd I say?_

"You tell me."

_I just told him I missed him. Face it, sweetheart, you're not much of a pub crawler._

"There's a reason for that, Logan. I have to go. Bye."

She closed the phone, slipped it into her pocket and paid for their lunch. When she got to the car, he was leaning against it, smoking and looking up into the clear blue sky. She hated that he'd started smoking again, but there was time to convince him to quit. She leaned against the car beside him. "Want to talk about it?" she asked, keeping her voice gentle.

He started to say no, but gave it a second thought. He looked at the lit end of the cigarette and took a drag. "He said he missed me," he began. "And I think he meant it."

"Of course he meant it. He's been a little lost since you left. He always liked hanging out with you, but you began to withdraw from everyone when your mother got sick."

He nodded, took another deep drag and flicked the butt away. "Do you want me to drive?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

He shrugged and waited for her to unlock the car. After unlocking his door, she leaned up and kissed him. He watched her walk around the car before getting in. She pulled out of the parking lot and merged back onto the interstate.

* * *

After crossing the border into Nebraska forty-five minutes later, she asked, "Can we talk about something?"

"Go ahead."

She thought about how to phrase what she wanted to say because she did not want to be the only one doing the talking. Deciding it best to present it as a question, she asked, "Are you planning to come back to Major Case?"

"What incentive do I have for that, Alex? Best case scenario Ross partners me with Logan, which would be all right. I could live with that. But...there's too much mud in the water at Major Case."

"Not to mention Ross might regret making you and Mike partners," she said with a soft laugh.

He smiled. "Maybe, but I don't think it's a partnership Ross would willingly make."

"You're probably right. So you don't want to deal with Ross?"

"I could handle Ross. He isn't the problem. Moran would be watching me under a microscope, and you know it. I wouldn't have the freedom to do my job."

She couldn't argue with that. From what Logan had told her, Moran was entirely unwilling to give him a fair chance."So what are you going to do?"

"I talked to a friend of mine at Quantico. He called me yesterday. The FBI offer still stands."

She had mixed feelings about that. "What does the offer entail?"

"Like I told you, I'll be attached to the New York office, but I'll have to spend some time in Quantico every month. I will be available to NYPD as a consultant, but I'll have my own cases, too. I will have a lot more freedom to do my job."

"You've made up your mind, then?"

He was quiet, looking out the window across the prairie. "No," he answered softly."I want your input first."

She was surprised. "How much would my input matter?"

"Very much. If you really wanted me to return to Major Case, I would give it a shot."

"But you would be miserable, and you might resent me for that. I won't take that risk. This is your decision, Bobby. I can't make it for you, and I will not try to change your mind when you do make it."

"I'd like to know what you think."

"What I think or what I feel?"

He looked at her. "Both."

She glanced toward him, catching his gaze before returning her attention to the endless stretch of highway ahead of them. She sighed. "I can't lie to you and say I wouldn't like working with you again, but you're right on both counts: Ross will not partner us together and Moran would be on your ass all the time. I think that the FBI offer would be in your best interest and you should take it."

He didn't outwardly react to that, but she knew he was thinking about what she said and she left him alone. They were just west of Lincoln when he spoke again. "You really think I'd be a good FBI agent?"

She smiled. "You are a brilliant profiler and a gifted investigator. You're a good cop. I think you'll do fine wherever you are, but the Bureau will give you the best chance to work the way you work best. They'll give you the freedom to do your job right, the way you see fit."

He stared at her. "You really think I should accept the Bureau's offer?"

She nodded. "I do. Because it's what's best for you. It doesn't mean we can't see each other often. Maybe part of our problem was that we were together too much."

"Does Logan get on your nerves like I used to?"

She smiled. "Worse. But when I go home, I get away from him for a few hours. Then I can deal with him the next day."

He turned his attention back out the window, but she was unwilling to let him retreat too far. Reaching out, she gently grasped his hand. He closed his fingers around hers and continued to watch cornfields and prairie sail past the window.

* * *

As they approached Chicago, after engaging mostly in small talk interspersed with comfortable silence, Goren shifted in his seat, turning to face her. Resting his head against the seat back, he reached toward her and stroked her hair with his left hand. His right hand began caressing her thigh. She was amused.

He slipped his hand under her shirt and began to caress soft skin. As his hand inched upward, she caught her breath at the fire his fingers ignited across her skin and down to the center of her body. "I'm driving," she hissed, swallowing a soft moan.

"You wanted spontaneity," he challenged.

"Your timing sucks."

He leaned closer and bit her ear. "I know," he whispered as his tongue trailed a heated path of exploration in and around her ear.

She got off at the next exit and stopped at the first motel they came to. He waited, leaning against the lobby wall as she checked in, and then followed her into the closest elevator. As she pressed four, he stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Can't you wait?" she growled without venom.

Nibbling her neck, he murmured, "No. Can you?"

She spun in his arms, capturing his mouth in a hard kiss, which she broke only long enough to exit the elevator and open the door to their room. When the door closed, all bets were off. Passions collided explosively and in the aftermath, they rested peacefully in one another's arms. Their bags remained in the car, and they slept.

* * *

When Eames woke the next morning, well-rested after a night of deep sleep, she was only mildly surprised to find herself alone in the bed. She looked around the room and spotted her bag near the desk. Rising, she went into the bathroom, which was still damp and warm from his shower. Before she could wonder where he'd gone, though, the door opened and he came into the room. Stepping from the bathroom, she smiled at the danish and coffee he nearly dropped when he turned and saw her standing, totally naked, near the foot of the bed. There was no mistaking the glow in his eyes, and she crawled back onto the bed, stretching out to her full length with a sigh. When she smoothed her hands down the length of her body, he was done. Setting the coffee and danish beside the television he shed his jacket, crawled to her and claimed her mouth in a deep kiss. His hand played over her skin and amusement slid away, quickly replaced by desire and need. Teasing her mercilessly, he finally let her undress him, which she did at a near-frantic pace. The level of her desire was contagious, but she had a vengeful streak in her, and she made him wait as her body calmed a little. "Oh, no you don't," he growled.

Instead of his hands, he used his mouth to tease her back to a heightened state of arousal, a gentle touch helping to keep her there. She swore at him and he laughed, a soft, husky sound she loved to hear. She was done teasing and allowed him full access to her body. They met each other halfway to the edge and crashed head-on into the desire they aroused in each other.

Nestled in his arms, she stroked his chest as he drifted between sleep and wakefulness, remembering the passion of their previous attempt at a relationship. This time, things were profoundly different. The undercurrent of resentment, desperation and despair was gone. The reestablishment of their emotional connection enhanced the rediscovery of their passion and both were becoming solidly planted on firm ground. The basic framework of their relationship, laid in the early days of their partnership, had been strong. Shaken to its foundation by his emotional disintegration in the turbulent wake of his mother's final illness and death, it had endured. That which he'd thought was destroyed was stronger than either ever imagined it could be. With amazement and delight, they were finding a connection enhanced by physical love, one that was deep and enduring.

She placed a soft, teasing kiss on his mouth, rousing him. "We need to be going. We can make it home tonight."

Her observation triggered a palpable rise in tension. "My, uh, my apartment won't be ready until Monday. That's when the movers are scheduled to arrive."

"So stay with me until then. I'll be at work during the day, so you'll have your privacy." She reached up and combed her fingers through his hair. "Why are you nervous?"

He shrugged. "When I left, I thought it was for good. It's...odd to be coming back...home."

The last word was spoken in barely a whisper, and she wasn't sure if she actually heard it or if she felt it as a whisper against her skin or a soft rumble in his chest. She gave him a tender kiss of reassurance before slipping from the bed. He followed her and after he was dressed, he used the small microwave on the far side if the room to reheat her now-cold coffee. Thirty minutes later, they were back on the road. By dinnertime, they would be home.


	19. Home Again

Eames was not certain what kind of reaction to expect from him as they got closer and closer to the city. It was dark, but the city lights sparkled as bright as they ever did. She had called Logan during the last fuel stop to let him know about when they would arrive, and they had arranged to meet for dinner. As much as people criticized Logan, he was a devoted friend. He was looking forward to seeing Goren again. For Bobby's part, he had no idea what to expect, and he became increasingly nervous as they got closer to New York.

Eames felt bad for him as they approached the city and his agitation increased. She chewed her lower lip for a little while before finally reaching out to him. She gently ran her hand through his hair, then caressed the side of his head. When she began teasing his ear, he caught his breath and closed his eyes. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Distracting you. Is it working?"

"Uh...y-yes..."

"Good."

She continued to tease his ear and caress the side of his face and his neck, refocusing his attention entirely from his anxiety about being home.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his hands from her and let her drive. When she pulled up outside her house, he got out and came around to open her door. She got out of the car, checked that it was locked and turned from it, walking right into him. He leaned down and engulfed her in a deep kiss that took her breath away. With a sigh and a groan, she melted into him. Keeping her wits about her took an effort she almost didn't have, but she broke the kiss and reluctantly stepped away. He followed her to the front door, placing his hands on her hips and kissing and nipping her neck as she tried to unlock the door.

Finally succeeding with the lock, she shoved the door open and turned into his arms. He backed her through the door, kicking it shut behind him. They didn't make it to the bedroom.

* * *

She heard her cell phone and she swore, rummaging about on the floor to find her pants. Yanking out the phone, she flipped it open. "Eames."

_How's the road trip going?_

She smiled. "We just got back. Give us a chance to shower and change and we'll meet you at Emiliano's in an hour and a half."

_Oooh. Fancy. How's the big guy doing?_

She looked toward Goren's dark form, just a few feet away and smiled. "He's doing okay, Mike. See you soon."

She closed the phone and dropped it on the floor as Goren rolled onto his side and leaned close. Kissing her, he stroked her skin and she shivered. Smiling against his mouth, she whispered, "Race you to the shower."

She jumped to her feet and took off. He was right behind her.

* * *

Logan was waiting for them when they arrived at the small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. Before their relationship fully disintegrated, they'd eaten there often. It was near Canarsie, the neighborhood where Goren grew up, an intimate little place with generous helpings of delicious, homemade food.

Logan stood and grinned broadly as they approached the table. He gave Eames a brief hug and turned to Goren, studying him cautiously as he waited for him to make the first move. Goren smiled, extending his hand and drawing his friend into a hug which Logan returned comfortably. Stepping back, Logan watched as Goren held Eames' chair for her. "You look good, Bobby," he said, remembering the state he'd been in before he left the year before. "Really good."

"Thanks, Mike. So do you."

They sat as a waitress approached the table, taking their drink orders. She smiled at Goren. "I haven't seen you for a long time."

He returned her smile. "I've been out of town. It's nice to see you again, Tammy."

Her eyes strayed over him as she turned and walked away. Eames smiled. She was used to his tendency to flirt harmlessly with waitresses when they ate out, and she was thrilled to see its return. When Tammy returned, placing a glass of wine in front of Eames, a Seven and Seven in front of Logan and a scotch and soda in front of Goren, she smiled at him again with a wink and said, "The first round is on the house."

Giving her a shy smile, he replied, "Thank you."

Eames laughed softly. "Welcome home, Bobby," she said.

He met her eyes, reaching a hand toward her. She grasped it, gently stroking his thumb with hers. Logan was amused. "It's good to see you two getting along," he said, indicating their joined hands.

Eames felt Goren start to withdraw his hand and she tightened her grip. He left his hand in hers, averting his eyes to the candle on the table. Logan nudged him. "Don't be embarrassed, pal. It's a damn good thing to see."

Goren drew in his lower lip and bit down lightly, contemplating Logan's strong encouragement. He tightened his grip on her hand and took a drink, remaining silent. Logan was as used to Goren's reticence and withdrawal as Eames was. Unfortunately, he was not as good at drawing him out. Eames had a way with him, and Logan was glad she did. His attempts to reach his friend led mostly to hangovers that got them nowhere. He watched as Eames squeezed Goren's hand again and he looked up at her. They held each other's gaze for a few moments before he smiled and relaxed. Logan grinned. "Nice," he commented.

They looked at him, both curious. He grinned. "Your connection," he said, pointing to Eames with a breadstick he'd just taken a bite of. "You got it back, and that's really good to see. I hated to see you lose it in the first place. That was when you--" He pointed to Goren. "--really started getting bad."

Goren studied him with a curious tilt to his head. "You...knew?"

"That you guys were in trouble? Hell, yeah. I'm not blind. I tried to help but you just shut me out, too."

Goren looked down at Eames' hand, tucked into his own. His gaze shifted to Logan, then to Eames' face, where he saw deep concern. Still silent, he raised her hand off the table and kissed the back of her fingers. A light flush colored her cheeks and he smiled, eyes filled with deep affection.

Logan took a drink and laughed quietly. "If I didn't know you guys so well, I'd feel like a third wheel here."

"You're a third wheel wherever you go," Goren said, breaking his silence, and the three of them laughed.

The artificial tension that had grown among them dissipated and, by the time Tammy returned, they were smiling and joking with one another. After they placed their order, Tammy refilled Eames' glass from the wine bottle in the ice bucket beside the table. She left to put in the order and returned a few minutes later with fresh drinks for the men.

Logan watched her walk away, then motioned with his glass. "You know her?"

"Just from coming here as often as we used to," Goren answered. A smile touched his mouth. "She's married. Four kids."

"Pity. She's a looker."

"I know."

Eames watched them with a smile. She saw time melt away, and it was beginning to feel like the past year had not happened. She wondered if Goren felt the same way. He was now relaxed, the apprehension of his reunion with Logan gone. Her heart swelled with affection for both men as they laughed easily, reforming the bond of friendship that she knew had never been severed. As she had hoped, he was settling easily back into the life he'd abandoned last year. She had faith he would continue to settle into the rest of it with as much ease as he did with Logan.

Eames stopped with her second glass of wine, knowing she would have to take Logan home. They enjoyed a nice, relaxed dinner and she was pleased to watch the two men reestablish their friendship. Tammy enjoyed their attention, and Eames gathered plenty of ammunition to tease them both with. As the evening progressed, she became distracted by a gentle, teasing game Goren took up with her. She was so thrilled with his demeanor she lost track entirely of their drinking.

As they walked to the car after dinner, she enjoyed the banter between the two men, gathering the impression neither man was too drunk. Once in the car, Goren shifted his attention to her, which Logan found amusing. As she drove, he gently poked her side, then her leg, her hip, her neck, the side of her breast...

"Would you stop," she said, though the laughter in her voice belied her annoyance.

Goren continued to playfully poke her, and her laughter took all the force out of her objections. Logan settled in the back seat, watching the game with a smile.

When Eames pulled up in front of his apartment building, he leaned forward in the seat, squeezing Goren's shoulder affectionately. "I'm glad you're home, Bobby. I'll call you tomorrow."

Goren nodded. "Thanks, Mike." He looked at Eames. "I'm glad to be home."

Logan nodded knowingly. "I know you are. Night, guys."

He slid out of the car and went into the building. Before Eames could shift gears, Goren leaned in and kissed her, resting his hand flat against her abdomen. She buried her fingers in his hair, teasing his lips with her tongue. "Let's go home," she whispered.

"I am home," he responded.

She laughed softly against his mouth. "You know what I mean."

Laughing with her, he settled back in his seat, keeping himself in check with difficulty until they returned to her house. Then, all bets were off.

* * *

The morning sun shone through the bedroom window, waking Eames from a pleasant dream. She turned over in the bed, not surprised to find the place beside her empty. That reinforced her certainty that he'd not been as drunk as he had after the meeting they'd had with Lou Fisher. She got out of bed and went into the adjacent bathroom.

Leaving the bedroom, she walked down the hall into the living room. Looking toward the dining table, she stopped, surprised. The table was set, with an arrangement of fresh flowers in a crystal vase in the center of the table. The wonderful smell of bacon and coffee filled the air. She walked to the table and leaned over to smell the flowers. When she straightened up, she backed into him and smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. Kissing her neck, he asked, "Hungry?"

"Starved."

Pulling out a chair for her, he kissed her head and disappeared into the kitchen. Returning with a platter of eggs and bacon, he set it beside her and went back into the kitchen. Bringing her toast and coffee, he set his own coffee cup by his plate and sat beside her. She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Good. I, um, I have a meeting Tuesday morning at the New York FBI office."

She nodded, but found herself unable to keep a note of disappointment from her tone. She was determined to support him, but a small part of her had been hoping he would opt to return to Major Case, even if she thought the FBI job was a better option for him. It was selfish, she knew, and she felt guilty about it. "That's good."

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing."

His frown deepened. "Now who's hiding?" he accused.

She sighed. "I'm not hiding. I told you I would support whatever decision you made, and I meant that."

"But you don't approve."

She sighed. "It's not that. I want you to take the FBI position. It's a good move for you."

"But..."

She pushed her fork through her eggs. "But...I'll miss having you around in the squad room."

"I haven't been in the squad room for the past year," he pointed out.

She didn't look up. "That doesn't mean I haven't missed you."

"Eames...you need to make up your mind."

She shook her head and placed her hand on his arm. "I have. Take the FBI job. I really think it will be a good move for you. I'm just being...selfish."

He was silent, staring at his empty plate with a frown. "You..." He hesitated. "You're entitled..."

She tightened her grip. "No. I'm not. This is _your_ decision, Bobby. _You_ have to be satisfied with it. I promise—I'll be fine with whatever you decide. I want you to be content, or you'll never be happy."

He was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Do you really think..I'll _ever_ be happy?"

"I hope so. But if you make up your mind it will never happen, then it won't."

"I don't...remember what it's like, to be happy. I don't know if I ever was, not since I was very little and didn't know any better."

Her fingers lightly stroked his arm and she whispered earnestly, "I like to think I have a chance."

"A chance for what?"

"A chance to make you happy."

He was quiet again, contemplating her words. "If anyone in my life has any chance to make me happy," he murmured. "You do."

She moved her chair closer and he put his arm around her as she rested her head against his chest. He wondered if he was capable of ever being happy, but even more, he wondered if he deserved to be. One part of him doubted it, but another, larger part was willing to try.


	20. Unpacking the Past

When Eames got home from work Monday night, it was with mixed feelings that she greeted her empty home. He was not there, but she didn't expect him to be. The movers were due to arrive at his apartment, so she knew he'd had a busy day. He wasn't far away; Brooklyn was a lot closer than Sacramento. She no longer lived with worry deep in the pit of her stomach, but she missed him.

She wandered around the empty house. There were fresh flowers in the center of the table and the kitchen was spotless. Unbuttoning her shirt as she walked down the hall, she peeked into the spare bedroom, where he'd put his suitcase after they'd gotten home last week. It was empty. In her bedroom, she found the bed perfectly made, a remnant of his military background, and her clothes laid neatly over the back of the chair by the window. The only trace of his presence was the lingering scent of his cologne.

After changing her clothes, she returned to the living room and looked at the phone. He'd called her at lunchtime to give her his new cell phone number and let her know the movers had finished unloading. She wasn't surprised that he made no plans for that evening. He was settling in to a new place, and she knew enough to give him his space. She left the phone where it was and went into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine. Returning to the living room, she turned on the television, curled up on the couch and began to channel surf.

* * *

Goren walked around his apartment, getting a feel for the place. It wasn't very different from his old one, a little bigger maybe, with a slightly different layout, but nothing he didn't like. The window near the dining table faced west, which meant the two living room windows were south-facing, good for plants.

Casually, he opened boxes and found the right place for each item he unpacked. He had always been particular about his living space. Time passed quickly, and before he knew it, half his books were unpacked and tucked away on the bookshelves of one of his two bookcases. Sitting on the couch, he pulled a box closer to him and opened it. Settled on top of the other contents of the box were three framed photographs. His mother's cherished photo albums were tucked away on an upper shelf of the taller of his two bookcases, and her framed photos of Frank and him were tucked in a box at the bottom of his closet with her other meager belongings, the passive remnants of more than seven decades of living. These three pictures were his. In stark contrast to Alex's home, where framed photos decorated walls and shelves, he had only these three.

Withdrawing the first one, he turned it over and looked into his mother's smiling face. She had been beautiful, even after her disease robbed her of the ability to discern reality from her own delusions. He missed her. She had been such a central focus of his life for so many years. His existence had revolved around hers, inextricably intertwined until suddenly she was gone, leaving him lost. Her illness had robbed her of so many things, but it had changed his life as well. Happy memories of his childhood were ghostly images that faded into the shadows of what came after she got sick. He joined the Army to get away, and he discovered who he was in the ranks of the CID. But again, his mother's illness beckoned, and he'd had to come home. He never really belonged among his fellow officers in the NYPD, but he was good at what he did. In Major Case, he really found his niche, and he found Eames as well. But he never escaped the shadow of his mother's illness._ It wasn't your fault_, his mind said to the picture, excusing her abuses as he had all his life, couching them in the confines of her illness and finding plenty of excuses there to forgive her.

Looking back at him, her face seemed to become stern. _Perhaps, if you had taken better care of me, like your brother would have..._

_Oh, Mom...if you only knew..._

_I know this: you should have been more like your brother._

_Did you really want two sons who failed miserably at the chore of living?_ His mind strayed over memories of the past year and he shook his head slowly as he got up. _You almost got your wish._

He set the picture on a narrow shelf hung between the two windows, arranging two small candle holders, each containing a white votive candle, on either side of it. Returning to the couch, he withdrew the next picture, looking down at the image of two young boys, smiling, as yet untouched by the deep, dark shadows of their mother's schizophrenia. Frank's arm was draped protectively over his shoulders. He didn't remember when or where it was taken, and he guessed he was about six. He'd always been a small boy, a frequent target of neighborhood bullies until Frank and his friends finally put a stop to it. He never did find out exactly what they'd done, but at the time he'd only cared that he could walk down to the corner bodega without getting beat up. It wasn't until he hit puberty that he surpassed Frank in height and a few more years passed until he broadened and muscled out. He and Frank had been close until the year Frank turned fifteen. Their parents had been divorced a year and Frank decided he couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of Mom. He spent more time hanging out with his friends, drinking and doing drugs, gambling, chasing girls...and hanging with Dad when he came around. The elder son was the heir to the fortunes of the father, and Frank had certainly lived up to those expectations. Bobby had been left behind, in his dust, to pick up the pieces of their mother's shattered life when her favorite son moved away, taking with him the single light that beamed in her life. Bobby was left alone to lurk in the shadows his brother's dazzling light had left in their mother's mind.

He set the picture of the two boys on the top shelf of the smaller bookcase, the one where he kept his books concerning child psychology and the impact of mental illness on the psyche of the children who lived in its wake. It had been years since he'd opened one of those volumes, and yet he knew every theory they postulated, every therapy they proposed. He'd dealt with his life his own way, on his own terms, with only the brilliance of his own mind to guide him. He'd done all right. He'd survived.

When he withdrew the final picture, he leaned back into the corner of the couch and stared at it. This one had never seen the light of day in Sacramento. Looking at it had only served to darken his already deep melancholy, so he'd kept it tucked away inside the drawer of his nightstand. He'd never looked at it sober. _Alex... _His fingers strayed lightly over the glass that guarded her smiling features. _I'm so sorry..._

He rose and gently set the cherished picture on an empty shelf in the entertainment center, above the DVD player. He wandered into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator, taking stock of its meager contents. He took out a beer and twisted off the cap. He'd done enough unpacking for the day.

* * *

Eames started awake when her phone rang. She'd dozed off on the couch watching an old Cary Grant movie. She couldn't even remember which one it had been. Grabbing the phone, she muttered into the receiver, "Eames."

_I woke you._

"Bobby? No, it's all right. How was your day?"

_Boring. Yours?_

"Nothing unusual. What time is your meeting tomorrow?"

_Nine. I just called to tell you good night._

She paused, listening to the tone of his voice. "What's wrong?"

_Nothing. I just...missed you. That's all._

"No. There's something more to it than that. What happened?"

He was silent for a long time, and she listened to his silence patiently. Finally, he said, _My mother paid a visit, just to remind me of how I disappointed her all my life._

She closed her eyes. "You know that's only a delusion. You are a son any mother could be proud of."

He sighed softly. _Any mother but mine. Good night, Alex. I'll call you tomorrow night._

"Bobby?"

_Yes?_

"Do you need me to come over?"

Another protracted silence greeted her before he finally replied, _No. I'm fine. Good night._

The line went dead and she replaced the phone in its cradle. _Fine, my ass, _she reflected. She looked at the time—almost one in the morning—and debated driving to Brooklyn, but she was reluctant to violate his space and disrupt his privacy. Once their relationship was more settled, on firmer emotional ground, then she would feel more comfortable inserting herself into his alone time when she felt the need. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to drive him away again. With great difficulty, she laid to rest the red flags he had raised with such an early morning call, promising herself she would see him tomorrow, after work. Turning off the television, she set her wine glass in the sink and went to bed.


	21. Confession is Good for the Soul

**A/N: For anyone inclined to think the Bureau would never make such an offer, for the purposes of this story, they did. I am going to do my best to update a couple of my other stories but I wanted to warn y'all--my daughter, who is ten (and adores Bobby, by the way), will be starting dialysis this month and she's scheduled for surgery on Tuesday. Her declining health coupled with my crazy work schedule are the primary reasons my updates have been delayed. For that I apologize. Rest assured that I never leave things undone so updates will be forthcoming. **

**One more thing...last night she watched "Please Note" with me. At the end, when Bobby said "They had kids, too.", she thought he said "May I kiss you?" I thought that was pretty funny and those shippers among you would get a kick out of it.**

**Anyway...read on and enjoy!**

* * *

Eames stretched as the annoying sound of the alarm bit into the warmth of her sleep. She turned over toward the other side of the bed, only remembering he wasn't there when her arm passed through empty air. Forcing her eyes open, she watched her hand smooth over the empty sheets, missing him. Sliding from the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She was going to have to get used to missing him again, she realized as she stepped into the steaming stream of water. But she didn't have to like it. This time it was a different kind of missing, one that didn't have the same mind-numbing, stomach-churning worry tied into it, but she missed him just the same because he was not there.

After her shower, she dressed, then picked up the phone and dialed. He answered on the fourth ring, just before it switched to voicemail. _Eames...uh, good morning._

He sounded groggy and she knew she'd woken him. "You're not up yet?"

_What time is it?_

"Six-thirty. Bobby, are you all right?"

_I told you last night, I'm fine._

She paused. "I don't believe you."

She recognized his huff of frustration and she could hear it in his voice when he replied, _That's your prerogative. I, uh, I'd better get ready._

"Bobby..."

_I had a difficult night, that's all. It's nothing for you to worry abou_t.

She still didn't believe him, but this was not the time to push the issue. "If you're sure." She paused, not liking the uncertainty that had suddenly cropped up between them. They were still struggling to find their way with one another, emotionally, and she had to consciously remind herself that the journey back from wherever he had gone within himself was not going to be a smooth or easy one, for either of them. She would have to be more patient and understanding than she had ever been. "Would you come over for dinner tonight?"

When he hesitated, a lump formed in the pit of her stomach. _I have a lot to do around here..._ he began, his voice strained.

"Then I'll come over there and help you. I'll bring dinner."

Another moment of hesitation hung between them before he finally replied, his voice soft. _I'd like that._

She smiled at his change in tone. "I missed you last night--and this morning," she said suddenly.

She knew her confession caught him offguard and she regretted saying it as soon as the words cleared her lips. She wished she could take them back as much as she wished she could see his face. Finally, he said, _We'll talk about it tonight. Have a good day, Eames._

"Good luck at your meeting," she said lamely.

_Thank you. _He hesitated once again. _I missed you, too,_ he finally added just before the line went dead.

Eames hung up her phone, unsettled. They were now back in familiar surroundings and she worried that he was going to return to old patterns, though she hoped not. But she could not be with him all the time. He was going to have to figure out how to deal with his dark moods and the demons that haunted him on his own. He could not rely on her to guide him any longer. Silently, she prayed he would be able to find his way and not get lost someplace beyond her reach. She could not bear to lose him again.

* * *

Goren set his phone on the nightstand, beside an open bottle of scotch. Sitting up, he put the cap on the bottle and scrubbed his face with both hands. He walked to the window and opened it, taking a long deep breath of the cold winter air. Leaving the window open, he went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.

His thoughts strayed over the barrage of nightmares that had accosted him, driving him to seek the bottle that rested on his nightstand. There had to be a better way. It took awhile for him to realize that there was a better way, but it wasn't one that would ever be available to him on a nightly basis. The time he spent away from the city, in Virginia or on assignment, as well as the nights he spent alone, were destined to be difficult, and he knew of no other salve for his troubled soul. He refused to resort to disturbing Eames, though he knew she would not complain. He was determined never to become a burden to her and take the risk of driving her away for good. He had to be content with whatever amount of time she was able to offer and somehow manage to deal with the rest of it in his own way. Some would call him self-destructive; he called it surviving.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he opened his closet doors and, one by one, looked at each suit he owned. Finally, settling on one of his dark blue ones, he moved on to his dress shirts. _Light blue or white? Blue._ Now, the ties. Consciously choosing one of Eames' favorites—dark blue with diagonal stripes of maroon and silver—he closed the closet doors.

After shaving, he dressed and removed a small wooden box from the top drawer of his dresser. Sorting through the tie clips within it, he chose a plain silver one, sliding it into place. He replaced the box in the drawer and slipped his wallet, switchblade, loose change and handkerchief into his pockets, dropping his phone into his jacket pocket. Returning to the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror to straighten his tie. Then he looked himself over with a critical eye. _Presentable_, he determined.

In the living room, he grabbed his keys and his overcoat. He'd get a cup of coffee on the way. As he crossed the room, his eye caught the picture of Eames above the DVD player. He hesitated, overcoat draped over his arm, and stared at her picture. What had recently brought him only pain now gave him a measure of comfort that he desperately needed. He continued across the room and left the apartment.

* * *

FBI Special Agent in Charge Joseph Carmichael looked at the man on the opposite side of his desk. He'd heard other agents refer to that chair as the "hot seat", which made him laugh. It wasn't a place an agent wanted to find himself when trouble brewed. He looked at the file on the desk in front of him. "You resigned from the NYPD last year and took a position with the Sacramento Narcotics squad. Why have you come back to New York?"

"New York is my home. I made a mistake when I left."

"Why have you chosen not to return to NYPD? You had fifteen years in. That's a lot of time. Five more years and you would be eligible for your pension. Why give that up to come to work for the Bureau?"

Goren struggled to contain his natural restlessness. "Do I have to remind you that you sought me out, Agent Carmichael? I'm nine years older than your recruiting requirements. Why would you bend your rules for me?"

"First answer my questions, then I will answer yours."

After a moment of hesitation, Goren responded, "The department has nothing for me, sir. I...never quite fit in there and I have no desire to return if there is a better option available to me."

"Why the Bureau?"

"I understand people and I can get into the minds of the criminals I pursue. The Bureau's behavioral analysis unit is the best in the world. I find that appealing."

Carmichael tapped the file on his desk. "And you wish to remain attached to the New York office?"

"Tell me you can't use a profiler on your team."

The senior agent smiled. "You've done your homework. Very good. I certainly can use a good profiler. I believe I have convinced my superiors of that. The BAU is certainly interested in you, and the forensic unit at Quantico has also expressed interest after reviewing your file."

Goren frowned. "My file?"

Another smile teased the corners of Carmichael's mouth. "The Bureau has lots of files, Goren. You have shown remarkable profiling skills and you trained under Declan Gage before his breakdown, but you are also a gifted forensic investigator. You have some issues with authority, but given your background, you have done amazingly well for yourself. You will be an asset to the Bureau. You've spent your life in law enforcement, and we are willing to make concessions and give you credit for your experience, both in the CID and as an NYPD officer. After a long discussion with your friend Agent Dominick, I did some convincing." He withdrew an envelope from the middle drawer of his desk and held it out to Goren. "This is our offer. The details of salary and benefits are there as well as your responsibilities and duties. You will be attached to my office, but Quantico has its fingers in the mix as well. You will be required to spend time there. I think you will find the terms acceptable. You won't be required to attend the full New Agent course at the Academy since you could probably teach most of it, but you'll have to spend some time there with one of the current classes. Take the offer with you, review it and think about it. I'll expect your reply by the end of the week." He rose and extended his hand. "I hope to be welcoming you to the Bureau then."

Goren accepted his hand and nodded. "I'll be in touch."

He left the office, slipping the sealed envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn't matter what it said. He knew he would accept the position. As he left the building, he wondered again if there was a place for him anywhere. He knew it wasn't with the NYPD or in Sacramento. He hoped to find that place with the Bureau because he was tired and he was done looking for something he had come to realize might not exist.

* * *

Eames knocked on the door of Goren's apartment. She heard him moving about inside but a few minutes passed before the door opened. He stood in the doorway, staring at her. She stared back. He still wore his suit pants and blue shirt, but his tie was off and his shirt was half-open. He stepped back slowly, and she entered the apartment.

Reaching out, he took the bags from her hands as he gave her a soft kiss and disappeared into the kitchen. She looked around the room, easily finding the familiar picture of his mother and the childhood picture of him and his brother that had always adorned his living room. She was very surprised, however, to find a picture of herself there as well. She was looking at that picture when he came out of the kitchen, setting two plates of pasta on the table. "Eames?"

She turned. "You have a picture of me?"

He nodded, returning to the kitchen to retrieve the wine she'd brought and two wineglasses. "I've had it for a long time. I was never able to set it out before."

She sat at the table. "What's different now?"

He sat down and tossed the envelope Carmichael had given him beside her plate. "A lot of things."

"What's this?"

"The FBI's offer. I'm going to take it."

She picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. "You haven't even opened the envelope."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what's in it. I have nowhere else to go, no other viable options. I'm done trying to find a place where I belong. Maybe I don't belong anywhere, except with you. But this is a job where I'll be able to do what I do best, without Moran breathing down my neck because I don't meet his expectations of what a police officer should be. The details are irrelevant to me."

She smoothed her hand over the envelope. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

He pushed his fork through the pasta on his plate as she opened the envelope and withdrew its contents to read over them. When she finished, she returned the papers to the envelope. He didn't look up. Quietly, she said, "It's a very good offer. They know what they're getting. What did he say about spending time in Virginia?"

"He hinted that Quantico was interested in me, but I'll be attached to the New York field office."

She smoothed her hand over the envelope then pushed it toward him. "Maybe you should look at this."

He took the envelope and pulled out the papers, scanning through them. "It's...open-ended," he muttered.

"Meaning you could spend three days a month in Virginia or three weeks."

He closed his eyes as he set down the papers. "What do you want me to do? And don't tell me whatever I want." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I didn't come back to New York for the job. I came back for you." He got up and walked to the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen and dining area, pulling a letter from inside a sales flyer that had come in the mail. He handed it to her and sat back in his chair. "That came today. Ross works fast."

She read the letter and her eyebrows arched in surprise. "My guess is he _has _to work fast before Moran changes his mind." She hesitated before adding, "Moran won't be chief forever, you know."

He drained his wineglass and stared at his untouched food, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "I know. But it will still be the same old shit. I'm not sure I have the stomach for that any more."

She understood that, and she had no intention of swaying his decision. In time, he would come to resent her for it if she did. "Just answer me one question and I'll be done with the subject."

"What's that?"

"What happens if Quantico ends up needing you more than New York?"

It was a legitimate question, one he'd been contemplating all day. "Do you trust me to work it out? I'm not inclined to let you slip through the cracks, Alex."

That was good enough for her. She placed the letter from Ross with the FBI letter and rose to set them on the counter. Returning to her seat, she watched him and wondered what had him so unsettled. "Why don't you eat?"

"I'm not that hungry."

"What did you have for lunch?"

He shifted in his seat. "I, uh, I kind of forgot about lunch."

She watched him refill both glasses and asked, "What has you so upset?"

When he didn't answer, she reached out and closed her hand around his. She knew him well enough to know what most often haunted his dreams and kept him from sleep: the victims of past cases, the rare few who got away, Nicole Wallace...and his mother. "Can I ask you something?"

He hesitated, but finally nodded, "Go ahead."

"Do you know why your mother favored Frank so strongly?"

It was rare that she ever tried to draw him into a discussion of his family or his past, something he never allowed. She watched to see where it would lead them now. He did not withdraw his hand, but he didn't look at her either. She was beginning to think he was not going to answer when he spoke. "This is not something..."

He trailed off, not sure at all how to continue, or even how to explain something he didn't fully understand himself. Perhaps talking through it might give him the insight he'd been denied all these years. Keeping everything so deeply buried inside had gotten him nowhere. He drained his glass again and said, "My parents were married in November 1956. Frank was born in March 1958. Their marriage had not yet started having trouble, so my mother never associated Frank with discord. At some point after he was born, my father began spending more and more time away from home. My mother got...lonely. When an ex of hers began coming by to see her, she...she wasn't so lonely any more. The day she died, she told me...she said she was with him the night Kennedy was elected. I was born nine months later, and she never knew for certain who fathered me. My father might have suspected something because he never treated me the same way he did Frank. Or maybe he resented me because he didn't want another child. I'll never know. But things between them were never good after I was born and she may have blamed me for that. In her eyes, Frank was a model son, a brilliant scientist who put his intelligence to good use instead of squandering it by being a cop. He never had time to visit her because his job was so vitally important, but she knew he would have taken better care of her than I did." He didn't notice that his voice had turned bitter, but she did. Her grip on his hand tightened; he didn't notice that either. "Everything about Frank was good and right. I could never measure up to that standard in her mind. I was her life's greatest failure, but at least she had one worthwhile son."

"You never told her he was a homeless junkie?"

"Of course not. I couldn't do that to her."

She caressed his arm. "You were a better son than she ever realized."

He didn't reply to that comment. "There's something else," he said tentatively. "And this may...change things between us."

He rose from the table and paced around the living room. She turned and watched him. "How can your past change anything between us?"

"This will," he murmured.

"I doubt it," she assured him. "Trust me."

More than anything else, he wanted to trust her, but he struggled. He sat on the couch and she moved to sit beside him as he buried his face in his hands. Gently she rubbed his back, whispering into his ear. "I've had a taste of life without you and it was a very bitter flavor. I didn't like it one bit and I can promise you there is nothing you could tell me that could possibly be worse than what we've just been through." She raked her fingers through his hair. "Just tell me."

He dropped his hands away from his face and softly said, "My mother did not have very good judgment," he warned. "William Goren was abusive, an alcoholic gambler and a womanizer. The man my brother remembers as Uncle Mark, the other candidate for my paternity..." He hesitated before finally confessing, "...was Mark Ford Brady."

She caught her breath, unable to hide her surprise. Mark Ford Brady? If he'd been Mike Logan she'd have accused him of joking, but she knew better. It was no joke. Recovering quickly, she gently stroked his hair and leaned closer to place a reassuring kiss on his cheek. "I would never punish you for your mother's sins, Bobby. You have no control over who your father is and this doesn't change who you are one bit. It doesn't change my opinion of you, or my love for you. There's nothing you can do about it, baby, so set it aside. It doesn't matter."

He turned his head to look at her. "But it does matter. The man who fathered me is responsible for half of who I am. Which is the lesser of two evils, Alex? An abusive womanizing gambler or a serial killer and rapist? Neither is an attractive option."

She sighed, not certain she would ever convince him of his own self-worth but determined never to give up trying. Her voice was soft. "You are a greater man than the sum of the parents who made you. You worked hard to be better than your father, and regardless of which man is responsible, you succeeded. You _are_ a better man than either of them. " She leaned forward to look at his face. "Look at me."

"I don't..."

"Look at me!" Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. She touched his cheek. "You are still the man I fell in love with. Nothing has changed that and nothing will. Let it go." Leaning forward to kiss him, she added, "Please. For me."

That was all he needed to hear. There was a good chance he would never be able to let it go, but for her, he was willing to try. When her lips brushed across his, he raised his hand to her head, drawing her in for a deeper kiss. He needed her reassurance.

She smiled against his mouth when a stray hand smoothed over the skin beneath her shirt. Gently, she bit his lip and he drew in a sharp breath. She pulled away a couple of inches and whispered, "Something just occurred to me."

"What's that?" he wondered.

"I've never made love to an FBI agent before."

"Never?"

She shook her head as she unbuttoned his shirt, distracting him from his dark introspection. "Never. I think it's time I changed that."

"I thought we were going to talk about..."

She cut him off with a kiss. "We will," she whispered. "Later."

Teasing his lips with hers and grabbing his shirt with both hands, she gave a gentle tug, coaxing him off the couch with ease. Slowly backing toward the bedroom, she fumbled with his belt as she added, "But I'll still kick your ass if you profile me, Goren."

He smiled as he slid her shirt up over her head. "I'll remember that," he promised, drawing her in for another kiss as she led him down the hall.


	22. Pillow Talk

**A/N: My daughter had what was supposed to be outpatient surgery on Tuesday. She is still in the hospital. So much for her definition of "outpatient". We are hoping for discharge in the middle of the week, but we shall see how well she cooperates. She isn't known for her high level of cooperation in this regard. Sooo, while she's been recovering, I finished another chapter of Chasm. I'm almost done with another chapter of this one as well as couple of other chapters to other stories I have going, so, hopefully, I can post them soon. We begin training for dialysis on Friday, but her primary problem right now is her lungs. Never a dull moment.**

* * *

Eames rolled over in her bed and stared at the outline of the window across the room. It was stormy outside, and the wind whipped tree branches against her window. She always missed Goren on nights like this, and tonight was no different. She loved the warmth of his embrace on cold, stormy nights. Nestling deeper beneath her comforter, she let her mind wander, and it drifted far into the past.

She used to think about Joe a lot more often, but as with everything, memories faded with time. But still, sometimes, alone in bed late at night, memories of him came to visit, intermingling past and present. Joe and Bobby were night and day, different beyond comparison. After loving her, Joe had always kissed her and rolled over to sleep. If she wanted to discuss anything with him, she had to catch him at dinner or before he became engrossed in a ballgame. Serious talk annoyed him. He didn't want to hear about any problems she thought they might be having. He just wanted to hear that everything was all right. Work was stressful. Home was his refuge and he tolerated no turmoil in his safe place. She'd loved him dearly, and she understood his need for their home life to be settled. Their marriage had been comfortable, underscored by a muted passion they both enjoyed. They were young and the serious burdens of other marriages, ones that involved children, had not yet touched their lives. And then, he was gone.

Her relationship with Bobby was very different. He didn't really have a safe place, a refuge where he felt entirely at peace, where there was no turmoil. His demons always found him, though he never allowed the darkness inside him to touch her. After loving her, he never turned away to sleep. Always, he pulled her close and held her, and she loved the feeling of contentment that came with his embrace. She sensed that being with her was as close to a place of refuge as he had ever known. In the past, she'd found him as unwilling to talk as her husband had been, though for different reasons. Joe just didn't want to talk. Bobby didn't know how to share that deeper part of himself, and he was unwilling to try. So they simply held each other in silence until they both drifted off to sleep. When she expressed a desire to talk with him, he always managed to distract her before she could start any kind of serious discussion, exhausting her and coaxing her toward sleep with a skill that annoyed her. By morning, she usually forgot what she'd wanted to discuss, and by the time she did remember, the time for talking was past. She found it frustrating, but very much the way he was. Before he'd gone to California, he almost never talked to her about things that troubled him, at any time. Since their reunion, however, he struggled to maintain a connection with her. He was serious about not sabotaging their relationship again, and he was trying hard to keep his word. For the first time in their relationship, Bobby wanted to talk.

Joe had never engaged in "pillow talk"; Bobby very recently seemed to thrive on it. Over the past few weeks, nestled in his arms after loving him, she found him more willing to talk than he ever had been before. To her great surprise, those quiet times were the ones she loved best. She found that since their reunion, those were the times he completely opened up to her, letting down his guard as he never had before. He told her that he loved her, and she believed him. During those intimate moments after sex, he proved his love by letting her see the side of him the world never saw. She alone saw the damage life had inflicted on his gentle heart and sensitive soul, and she alone had a chance to repair that damage, if there was any chance it could ever be repaired.

She looked at the time. Almost ten. He'd still be awake. The big question in her mind was whether he would be sober or not. She reached for the phone.

He answered on the third ring, asking without preamble, "How was your day?"

"Not bad. Yours?"

"I'm bored."

She smiled. He'd never handled boredom well. She decided to challenge him. "Are you sorry you came back?"

"What? Why would you think that?"

"I don't. I want to know what _you _think."

He was quiet for a moment. "I think..." He trailed off and let the silence linger for a moment. "I think...I miss you."

She smiled. "I miss you, too, but that doesn't answer my question."

"Are you busy?"

"I'm in bed, Bobby."

Another pause. "I...I know you have to work tomorrow...but...I..."

When he trailed off awkwardly, she smiled. In her mind's eye, she could see him shifting restlessly. "Do you want me to come over?"

"In this storm? No way. I'd never ask you to do that."

"But you'd come over here?"

"If you let me, I would."

She smiled again. "What have you had to drink?"

"I'm sober, Alex. I had two beers before dinner. That's it."

"What did you have for dinner?"

"A ham sandwich."

She sighed. It was better than nothing. "I'll leave the door unlocked, but don't sneak up on me."

He laughed softly. "I'm not stupid. I only sneak up on you when you know I'm around."

"Bobby?"

"Yes?"

"You never answered me."

He let his silence stretch between them like a dark void, until he said, "No. I'm not sorry." Once he would have left it at that and hung up, but he found it an insufficient response now. So he added, "I don't care where I am, as long as I'm with you."

She closed her eyes, swallowing a sudden lump that formed in her throat. "I want you with me," she answered. "Be careful driving."

His voice was soft as he replied, "Don't worry about me. I'll see you shortly."

She set the phone on the nightstand and slipped out of the bed. Pulling open the curtains, she looked out into the stormy night. It was snowing heavily, and she almost called Goren back to tell him to stay home. She thought better of it, though. The early stage of a city blizzard was no obstacle for him. His desire to see her was more than just something he wanted. His emotional state was complicated and he was at a point where he needed her reassurance, whether he wanted to need it or not. She walked down the hall into the living room and quietly unlocked the door before proceeding into the kitchen. She filled her tea kettle and set it on the back burner then made half a pot of coffee. It was too late for her to drink coffee but he would want a cup or two. She'd rather he drink coffee and keep her up a few hours more than see him drink the rest of the scotch in her upper cabinet.

She fixed herself a cup of chamomile tea and lit a mulberry candle, which she set in the center of the dining table. Pulling a chair to the window, she looked out into the storm, watching the snow swirl about the streetlights, the parked cars, the houses across the street. Few cars ventured out at such a late hour in her quiet neighborhood. Snowfall like this coated the city in a blanket of still, understated beauty, muffling the normal noises that drifted through the streets.

Rising, she went into the bedroom and retrieved her warm, heavy robe from the closet, hesitating when her gaze fell on the few men's shirts that hung beside her own. Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the collar of one and smiled. She liked having his clothes in her closet. It gave their relationship a sense of permanence that it hadn't had before.

Returning to the dining area, she sipped her tea and opened the window a little. A draft of cold, crisp air carried a few stray snowflakes into the apartment and she smiled, watching the fragile white flakes fade away as they touched the carpet.

She was still sitting at the table, watching the storm as it intensified, when the front door opened. She heard him remove his coat and hang it by the door. Turning, she watched him step into the small circle of light cast by the candle's flame. His hair was damp from the snow, tightening his curls, and his face was flushed from the wind and the cold. She wanted him to make the first move, to step closer and kiss her, but she knew he wouldn't. He still had a way to go before his confidence with her returned.

"You look cold," she said with a smile. "There's coffee in the kitchen."

He nodded, and when he came out of the kitchen, he pulled up a chair beside her. She reached out and touched his cheek, leaning forward a little. It was all the invitation he needed. When his lips met hers, everything else was forgotten. His coffee got cold, her tea went unfinished and the storm raged on in the background, now silent in the wake of a more powerful storm of emotion and passion. Neither storm would be contained.

* * *

She rested her head on his chest, focusing on the hammering of his heart and the sound of air rushing in and out of his lungs as he calmed. Her hand stroked his moist skin as her own body settled. She loved the intimacy of these times, the urgency and the tenderness, the slow torture and hard, fast reward. She loved the way he responded to her when she touched him, when she looked at him, when she smiled. But as much as she loved it all, her favorite part of their renewed relationship was what came after their loving.

Her hand continued to stroke his skin, and she felt his breathing deepen. "Bobby?" she said softly. "Can we talk?"

He grunted softly, but didn't reply. Realizing she'd waited almost too long before initiating conversation, she said, "I want to talk about us."

That statement got the response she expected. She could tell by the shifting of his breathing pattern that he was no longer drifting toward sleep, and his increased heart rate belied his anxiety. His hand stroked her back and he finally replied, "Uh, what about us?"

The disintegration of their relationship had almost destroyed them both. Now they struggled to rediscover their way with each other, to find the emotional path both had abandoned long ago. So far, it had been difficult, but rewarding. They were making progress.

He shifted and she sensed a rise in his restlessness. She'd made him uncomfortable, an unfortunate reaction every time she brought up the subject, but it was something they had to discuss. "I don't mean to keep rehashing the past, but we still have unresolved issues. I want to put it all behind us, but not until we're ready to move past it. We can't do that until we've identified what went wrong to begin with and worked through it."

He released a heavy breath. He had spent many hours analyzing what had gone wrong with them and he knew that the fault lay with him, regardless of her objections to that assessment. But he would have to be careful how he approached it. He pressed his lips against her forehead. "I know what went wrong," he said softly. "But I'm not sure I know how to fix it." He touched her lips to encourage her silence. "I never learned how to properly express what I feel. My mother's reactions to emotion were always so inconsistent, I was never sure which response was the correct one, so I learned to withdraw and keep everything bottled inside. Toward the end of her life, she got better about accepting love, but I was still kind of lost over how to express it. I always showed that I cared, even if it was never enough, but expressing more...That was not something I learned to do."

She ran her hand, flat-palmed, over his chest and placed a soft kiss in front of his ear. "Let me teach you."

"You don't think it's too late?"

"Not at all. You already have the fundamentals."

He watched the ceiling fan spin lazily above them. "I'm not so sure about that," he replied.

"Come on," she chastised gently. "Think about it. You're romantic and loving."

He gave a soft, bitter laugh. "Don't confuse the issue, Alex. Romance isn't love. It's manipulation. Sex isn't love. It's physical need."

"All right then, you tell me. What is love?"

He tightened his arm around her and tucked his other hand under his head. What was love? Did he have any real clue? Softly, he answered, "Love is an emotional catastrophe. It's heaven and hell, all wrapped up in one neat package."

"That's an interesting perspective." She expected no less from him. "What is it for you? Heaven or hell?"

"Both." He teased her hair. "You have given me my highest highs and my lowest lows. No one has ever affected me more, not even my mother. When I think of the word love...I think of you. So I suppose, for me, love is...you."

That was an answer she did not expect, even from him. "You mean that, don't you?"

He placed an index finger under her chin and tipped her face toward his. "Of course I mean it. Do you think I don't?"

"No, of course not. I just didn't expect that kind of answer from you."

"An honest one?"

"An...emotionally cryptic one."

He softly kissed her. She lightly rubbed his side and he deepened the kiss. "I need you," he whispered.

"Is that why you love me?"

"Not at all. It's _because_ I love you, I think."

She smiled and whispered back, "Show me."

That was something he was very happy to do.


	23. An Emotional Fallout

**A/N: The first part of this chapter is for Clue Impaired, who wanted to see it. **

**Thank you to everyone who offered well wishes for Katie. She spent 9 days in the hospital with complications ranging from a serious infection to a collapsed lung. She's home now and we are trying to buy time until she heals, hoping we will not need to start dialysis before then. She's only 10 and doesn't understand how any of this can be for her good, so she's just a tad annoyed with me for letting them do this to her. Bless her little heart.**

* * *

Late Friday morning, Goren went into Manhattan, intending to surprise Eames for lunch. He found his appetite for food slowly returning, and he knew she worried unnecessarily about his diet, so he wanted to offer her some small reassurance by having lunch with her. He'd called Logan, who was supposed to bring her to the diner near 1 PP where they'd once had lunch often, before everything fell apart on him.

Idly staring into his coffee as he waited for Eames, Goren looked up when someone stopped beside his table. His expression did not change and neither did Danny Ross'. "Change of plans, detective," Ross said, his voice even but not unkind. "Logan and Eames had to take off to a scene. Logan asked me to deliver the message."

Goren made a mental note to hurt his friend. "That's fine, captain. Thanks."

Ross hesitated. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Goren studied his face for a long time, but Ross didn't seem uncomfortable. Finally, he nodded, returning his attention to the tabletop as Ross slid into the booth opposite him. A waitress appeared before either man could speak, setting a cup of coffee in front of the captain. Ross ordered a turkey club sandwich; Goren requested pastrami.

She collected the two menus, smiled at Goren and walked off. Ross took a drink of hot, black coffee and broke the silence. "Eames told me you got my letter."

Goren nodded. "I did."

"She also said you rejected the offer."

Again, Goren said, "I did."

The captain nodded. "I understand. But answer one question for me?"

Goren didn't react for a moment, caressing the edge of his coffee cup with a finger. He softly sighed. "What's your question?"

"Why?"

Goren could not help looking up, a stunned expression of disbelief on his face. "You have to ask that?"

"I want to hear it from you. Eames and Logan refuse to talk to me about you."

Goren felt a surge of affection for their loyalty. "I have no desire to subject myself to Moran's animosity again," he answered. "I had a better offer."

"The FBI?"

The waitress brought their lunches and refilled their coffee, giving Goren another flirty smile as she walked away. He took a drink, then answered, "Yes."

"You'll give up your pension because of Moran?"

"My pension was not the only consideration, and it's not worth it."

Ross took a bite of his sandwich, a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he said, "Suppose I agree to partner you with Eames again?"

Goren stared at him, frowning deeply, and a coarse tremble shook his hand. He set down his coffee. "Why would you even consider that?"

"Because I'd like you to come back."

"But...I'm...uh, I'm in love with her."

Ross suppressed a smile. "So nothing's changed."

Goren didn't smile back. "That's right, Captain Ross. Nothing has changed...but I have. I will not risk ever losing her again. I trust Logan with her life, as much as I trust myself." He met Ross' green eyes with an intensity the captain had never seen before. "Take care of her."

Ross watched him rise, drop a twenty on the table and walk away, leaving his meal untouched. In those parting words, Ross heard both plea and threat. He also knew that there was no chance that Goren would ever return to his squad and he knew most of the fault for that lay with Kenny Moran. That was something he would never forgive Moran for. Finishing his lunch, he paid and left the diner.

* * *

Goren knew that on some level Eames had been hoping Ross' offer would be enough, but it wasn't, not even with the token gesture of partnership tossed in. Remembering what had once happened, he was not willing to risk a repeat of the same. Being partners with her again would be a huge mistake and he knew it. The temptation was powerful, but in the end, he retained his senses. He saw deep sincerity in Ross and he knew the captain wanted him back on the squad, but he simply was not willing to subject himself to the scrutiny and disapproval of his fellow officers and a chief of detectives who hated him. The next chief would be no different. It was past time for him to move on, and he knew Eames understood that.

When he got home from lunch, he placed a call to Carmichael and was patched through to the senior agent. "Good afternoon, Goren," he said when he came on the line. "Have you had sufficient time to consider our offer?"

"Yes, sir. I have."

"Am I correct in assuming the NYPD also put an offer on the table?"

"A token offer, yes, sir. My captain is sincere about wanting me back, and the chief of detectives made a half-hearted effort to placate him."

"So what have you decided?"

"I decided to accept the Bureau's offer."

"Excellent. I'll get the ball rolling on my end and I'll see you here in my office Wednesday morning at eight."

"I'll see you then."

"Welcome to the Bureau, Agent Goren."

"Thank you, sir."

Goren hung up the phone. It was done. He now belonged to the FBI.

* * *

Eames pulled out of the parking garage at 1 PP and made her way around to merge with the end of day traffic onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Goren's apartment was an easier commute than hers was. She hadn't seen him since Wednesday night, though she'd talked to him several times. He sounded all right, but she knew how much he tended to hide. She knew that he was opening up to her more, but there were still times when he told her he was fine that she knew he wasn't, like that afternoon. She wasn't sure exactly what was wrong, but she could tell by his voice that he was troubled. She offered to come over after work, and he'd given her a noncommittal answer. Something had happened and she spent the rest of the afternoon suppressing a nagging worry. She drove a little faster.

He opened the door for her when she knocked, stepping out of the way to let her in and returning to the couch. She closed the door and locked it, then she hung up her coat. Turning from the coat hooks, she watched him drink from the beer bottle in his hand. The worry in her gut didn't dissipate. Silently, she walked to the couch and sat beside him.

He studied the bottle that dangled from his fingers until she reached forward and took it from him, setting it on the coffee table. "What happened?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I, uh, I saw Ross this afternoon."

"Ross? Why did you see him?"

"It wasn't my idea," he snapped. "Talk to your partner about that."

"What did Logan have to do with it?"

"Everything. I was going to surprise you and join you for lunch, but you caught a case, so Ross came instead."

Understanding dawned. "And Logan knew...oh...I'm going to kill him."

He grabbed the beer again and took a drink. "He...uh, Ross offered to partner us together again."

She stared at him. "What? Why would he do that?"

"To get me back. It was his only bargaining chip."

"What did you tell him?"

He tried to read her tone, but she was careful to keep it neutral. Finishing the beer, he got up and went into the kitchen. She listened to the bottle as it clinked against others and she closed her eyes. Damn. His recycling was picked up Friday mornings. The refrigerator opened and closed. Returning with a beer, he handed her a wine cooler, which she took with a cautious smile. She had no idea how to proceed here, so she waited.

"I told him no," he answered.

She was entirely caught off guard by the intensity of her reaction to that statement. "No?" she repeated, surprised.

His eyes slid closed. She was disappointed and hurt. She couldn't keep that from her tone, and it was the reaction he anticipated...and dreaded. "Yes. I...uh, I accepted the FBI offer today."

Her emotions stormed within her and she was unable to sort through them. On some level, she hoped he would consider what Ross had offered, though she knew that, to him, it had been little more than a joke: much too little way too late. Ross had called her into the office earlier in the week, feeling her out for Goren's reaction to his letter. He told her what he'd wanted to offer originally, expressing his displeasure at what Moran had whittled it down to. When she asked, point blank, if he would accept a similar offer, Ross had been honest and told her no. He'd also asked what the Bureau was offering, but she did not feel at liberty to discuss that with him, beyond informing him that it was a much more solid offer. Ross knew then that Goren would never come back, and Eames knew it as well. Knowing Ross had given it one last-ditch effort, offering him the one thing he knew Goren would want most, only to have him refuse it, caused her emotions to churn out of control.

She tried to keep her voice even, but did not succeed. "When do you start?"

He shrugged. "He wants to see me at eight on Wednesday."

She stared at the table in front of her, tears blurring her vision. What was wrong with her? The FBI was the best choice for him, and he'd absolutely done the right thing. So why was she so upset? She couldn't control the tremble that accosted her muscles and she swallowed hard, her throat raw from the effort to contain her roiling emotions. When the room began to close in on her, she leapt to her feet and ran from the apartment.

He looked up at the door as it slammed. A brief impulse to go after her hit him, but he chased it away. A tear rolled down his cheek, unnoticed, and he brought the beer to his mouth.

* * *

It was very late when Eames returned to the apartment, shivering from the cold but now emotionally stable. Walking restlessly through the Brooklyn neighborhood, she'd addressed each emotion as it worked its way through her racing mind. One by one, she'd examined each, identified its source and set it where it belonged. She was not surprised to find the positive emotions were for him. No doubt remained that he'd done the right thing. The negative emotions, the ones that had forced her to flee the apartment, were driven by her own selfishness and longing for a past that would never return. She thought she had come to terms with all that and it surprised her to find she had not. She berated herself for letting it all get the better of her, especially in front of him, and she forced herself not to think about what her sudden departure did to him. She had to get her own emotions sorted before she could deal with his.

Placing her hand on the doorknob, she was not surprised to find it unlocked. Pushing it open, she walked into the cold, dark room and closed the door, shutting out the hallway light. The depth of darkness in his living room unsettled her. She had to get him a fish tank or something. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was able to make out dark shapes against the shadows, and she was glad the heavy drapes were unable to completely blot out the street's light, particularly when gently billowed by a random breeze through the open window.

Standing in the middle of the room, she closed her eyes and listened. Soft snoring emanated from the direction of the couch and she let her chin drop to her chest. She swallowed another lump. He only snored when he was drunk, and she was afraid to turn on the light.

Finally, she moved, turning on the lamp in the corner. An empty scotch bottle lay on its side on the table among half a dozen beer bottles. She cleaned up the bottles, closed the window and got a blanket from the closet. Covering him with the blanket, she sat on the edge of the couch and gently brushed her fingers through his hair. Leaning down, she placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. He didn't stir. Rising, she turned off the light, found the hallway and went into the bedroom. Hating herself for her own weaknesses, and even more for letting him see the insecurities and disappointments she could not hide, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

When morning came, Eames woke to find herself drawn firmly against flesh and muscle, held snugly by strong arms. She wondered when he'd come into the bedroom, surprised she hadn't woken. The fact that he had been able to crawl in beside her and draw her into his arms without waking her attested to the level of comfort and trust she felt in his presence. If she'd been there alone, she would have woken at the sound of his progress down the hallway. She nestled more firmly against him and his arms tightened around her. She was surprised to realize he was awake, and she wondered if she'd overestimated his consumption, not knowing the level of the scotch in the bottle when he'd started. "Please forgive me," she whispered.

"For what?"

Beer and whiskey still lingered on his breath, and she found the scent disturbingly erotic, earning herself another mental scolding. "For leaving like I did."

He was silent, but his fingers caressed her stomach. "We have to talk," he murmured, kissing her ear as he released her from his embrace.

She watched him slide from the bed and walk to the bathroom, noting only a mild unsteadiness in his gait. She heard the shower and fought down the temptation to join him. He was right. They definitely needed to talk and she was not going to compound their problem by throwing passion into the mix.

When he came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, she watched him dress before he turned to her, his eyes bloodshot, but sad. "I'll wait for you in the living room."

She nodded, sliding from the sheets and going into the bathroom to shower. As she dressed, she wondered if he felt the same reassurance she did seeing her clothes intermingled with his. Earlier in the week, she'd brought a small overnight bag to the apartment. She didn't want to push him in any direction he was not willing to go, but finding herself at his apartment without a toothbrush or a change of clothes was not appealing. She doubted he would freak at the sight of a second toothbrush in his bathroom and a couple of her shirts beside his in the closet, but with Goren there was no predicting anything. She had to play everything by ear. Fortunately, she'd read him right and he welcomed her few personal belongings among his own.

She went out into the living room, not surprised to find him pacing as he waited. "Bobby?"

He stopped and turned toward her. She waited until he gestured with his hands, deeply agitated. "Talk to me, Eames. Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. If you..." His voice faltered and he closed his eyes. "If you can't be honest with me, with your own feelings..." He trailed off and suppressed a tremor, but he couldn't stop the tear the escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. "Don't handle me with kid gloves. Tell me what you feel, what you think. I need to know...I need you to be honest with me. If you can't, or won't..." He turned away and shoved his hand through his hair.

He was right. In trying to protect him, she'd hurt him and sent herself into an emotional storm that had taken her hours to negotiate. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I really am. I was trying to protect you..."

To her surprise, he began to laugh. It wasn't the bitter, angry laugh he'd been prone to lately. It was a genuine laugh of honest amusement. When he turned back toward her, his eyes were bright and she honestly could not tell if he had a hangover or not. He had too much experience with managing them, she realized sadly. "What are you laughing at?"

"How many of my apologies have you rejected because I was protecting you? Now the shoe is on the other foot and you feel a need to protect _me_. I find that funny."

She smiled, seeing his point. "Are you rejecting my apology then?"

"No. Not at all." His humor faded quickly. "But I am asking you to stop doing it. Dealing with everything is hard enough for me. Knowing you are intentionally misrepresenting your emotions forces me to second-guess everything, and that's more than I can handle. I need you to be sincere, Alex. I've been trying very hard to open up and let you know what's in here." He placed his palm over his chest. "I don't want you walking on emotional eggshells around me. Don't be afraid to upset me. I need to get upset. I _don't_ need what I got last night."

She nodded. "I know. I don't need that either." She sighed. "You're right. I have been trying to protect you. I've been hiding things from myself, too, and it all hit me at once last night. I am sorry."

He began pacing again, but he was less agitated. "You really did want me back at Major Case," he said, his voice soft but still accusing.

"I really want what's best for you. Nothing more and nothing less."

"You're skirting the issue again," he said, voice raised angrily.

"All right, yes. I did want you back at Major Case. I've missed you and I'm being selfish. I didn't know Ross was willing to partner us together again and that blind-sided me as much as the fact that you told him no, even to that."

He saw how that must have appeared to her, and he regretted upsetting her. "Please don't think that was a rejection of you. I can't work in the department any more and that has nothing at all to do with you. The brass likes you, Alex, and so do other cops. You fit in. I never did, and I'm tired of being a square peg trying to be forced into a round hole. I need to find my own square hole."

She smiled at him. "Face it. You're not perfectly square, either."

His mouth quirked into a small smile. "True. But I think the Bureau can accommodate that."

"I think so, too, which is why I think it's the best place for you. That's the only reason I told you to take their offer and not ours. I knew if I told you I wanted you to come back to Major Case, you would have leaned in that direction, and I didn't want you to do that."

He shoved a hand into his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. "I told you I wanted to talk about it. Did you think I was kidding?"

She shook her head. "I didn't want to influence your decision."

"Damn it, Alex. You are more important to me than any job. I..."

She crossed the room in several steps and placed her hand over his mouth. She met his eyes and spoke with an intense earnestness. "Don't. Listen to me. This was your decision to make and no one else could do it for you. I know I'm an important part of your life. But it's still _your _life, and you are the one who has to live it and find some peace within it. I can't be the only source of contentment in your life. It will only come unraveled again. I'm sorry this all sort of backfired, but that's how I had to play it so you would be the one to make this decision. I didn't expect the reaction I had, but I am fine with what you've done." She lightly caressed his lips with her fingertips. "I really am."

He gently teased her hair. "Thank you for staying last night."

She nodded and pressed her forehead into his chest. He slid his arms around her and drew her body against his, resting his cheek against her head. "You, um, you said you were going to see your nephew today."

"I was. I can go tomorrow, or later in the week."

He pulled back a little. "No. Don't put him off. He looks forward to seeing you."

"Come with me?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. Not today."

"He loves it when you visit. He's on top of the world when he sits on your shoulders."

"Maybe next week. Tell him I said hi and I'll take him to the museum sometime soon, to see the dinosaurs."

She smiled. "No wonder you're his favorite. You know everything a little boy likes."

He stroked her cheek lightly. "I seem to remember being a little boy once, sometime back in the mists of time."

With a soft laugh she said, "That little boy is still in there. That's why you get along so well with him."

He brushed his lips across hers. "Go and visit. Call me later."

"Is it all right if I come back?"

"Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? Spend time with your nephew and your sister. I've caused you to miss enough visits."

"Bobby..."

He silenced her with a kiss. "Go on. I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Finally, she nodded. "I am sorry about last night."

"I know you are. Everyone...makes mistakes, some of us more than others. It was a minor thing." He gave her another kiss, a lingering one that offered both reassurance and love. "Enjoy your day, Alex."

She hesitated a moment longer before leaning up to give him one more kiss. With reluctance, she then stepped from his arms and left the apartment.


	24. A Major Setback

**A/N: Way back in Because of You, I ignored something my muse wanted me to do. This chapter is the revenge of my muse for that diss. Never diss the muse...**

* * *

Eames rolled over in the bed and stretched, reaching instinctively toward the side of the bed he always slept on. As sleep slid away from her, she remembered he wasn't there. She was in the guest room of her sister's house, alone. The thought of spending the day in the park with her nephew was very appealing and she was looking forward to it. She would call Goren on her way home and see if he was up for dinner or some company.

She left her sister's later than she planned, driving back into the city late in the evening. She had decided to go directly home, settling for a phone call to Goren to say good night. When she called him, though, he didn't answer. Concerned, she detoured to his apartment.

When he didn't answer the door, she let herself in. He was laying on the couch, turned mostly onto his stomach. His arm hung down and his hand rested on the floor, holding an empty tumbler.

She crossed over to him and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She had not expected this, and she knew deep in her gut that something had happened to him over the weekend, something that had deeply troubled him. "What happened to you?" she wondered aloud. "And why didn't you call me?"

She took the glass and the empty bottle from the coffee table into the kitchen, then got a blanket and covered him. After giving him a soft kiss, she left him to sleep it off and went home.

* * *

She was surprised when she didn't hear from him the next day. Deeply involved in an investigation, she had no time during the day to call him. They hadn't even had time for lunch. Her day ran late, and it was after nine by the time she left 1 PP. Deciding to surprise him, and very concerned about him, she drove to Brooklyn and, once again not getting an answer, she let herself into the apartment. She was surprised to find him not home. She tried calling his cell phone, but hung up when she heard the phone's ring from the bedroom. All she could do was wait for him to get home. Settling in on the couch, she watched television for awhile, until she felt herself dozing off. Deciding to stay for the night, looking forward to surprising him, she got a drink of water and went into the bedroom to prepare for bed.

She had just pulled off her shirt when she heard him come in. Putting it back on, she started for the living room, stopping when she heard a woman's laughter. Frowning, she stopped just out of sight although she had a clear view of the door. Silently, she watched him interact with the woman he'd brought home.

He was unsteady, swaying where he stood, and she realized that it was the woman who had brought him home. She watched the woman slip off her jacket as though she was expecting to stay, even though he hadn't yet invited her further into the apartment. 'Thanks...for the lift," he said.

She smiled seductively and stepped into his personal space, laying her hand on his chest. "I was happy to do it," she cooed.

She wished she could see his face, but his back was to her. It was always easiest to read his face, but over the years, he'd taught her how to read body language, and she had always been pretty good at reading men. Right now, his body language told her he was interested.

Reaching out, he touched her chin, trailing his finger down her chest to the top of her shirt which dipped into her ample cleavage. Watching his hand, he shifted it, brushing across the hardened nipple beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. His fingers curved around the side of her full breast and she pushed her chest out toward him with a sensual groan.

Slowly, he pulled his hand away, shaking his head. "No," he murmured. "I have too much to lose."

She seemed experienced with that scenario, because she thrust out her lower lip in the mimic of a pout. "Aw, come on, handsome," she coaxed, reaching out to fondle his belt. "She'll never know."

He seemed to consider it, but then gently removed her busy hands from his belt. "No. But I will. I can't. I...thanks for bringing me home."

She sighed, resigned to accept his rejection. Reaching up, she kissed him, lingering as she tried one last time to seduce him.

He stepped back, breaking the kiss and stumbling a little. He caught himself on the bookcase. She gave him a sultry smile. "When you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Swinging her jacket and her hips, she sauntered out of the apartment. He made a sound that was half sigh and half groan as he turned and took off his coat, dropping it on the floor behind the door. He stumbled to the couch and dropped onto it. Laying back, he mumbled to himself.

She couldn't make out what he said, and she studied him, her anger growing. She went back into the bedroom and pulled on her shoes. By the time she returned to the living room, he was out. Seething with anger, she glared at him and muttered, "Good choice, Robert."

She needed time to process this and decide how she felt without the kneejerk reaction of her anger. "Damn you," she whispered.

She left the apartment.

* * *

"I don't get what your problem is," Logan said, shaking an eggroll at her as he looked at her across the table in the Chinese restaurant they'd stopped at for lunch.

"He brought home another woman, Logan."

"I thought you said she brought him home."

"Does it matter?"

"Hell, yeah, it matters."

She was getting frustrated. "She tried to seduce him, right there in the living room!"

"Did you expect her to do it in the elevator? A living room is a good place to seduce someone."

"You are not helping matters, Logan."

"You brought it up," he pointed out. Then he sighed and said, "Look, did he give in?"

"He thought about it. He was interested; that was clear."

"He was drunk, Eames. His defenses and his inhibitions were down. The point is he didn't let her get away with it. He told her no. That's what should matter."

She growled in frustration. "I don't know why I'm even discussing this with you. You're a man and you're his friend. Of course you'll stick together."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"No. Not yet. I'm still too angry."

"Well, calm your ass down and talk to him. I'm sure he didn't do anything intentionally."

Still frustrated, she said, "Oh, just shut up and eat."

* * *

Eames was determined to wait until he called to confront him about what she'd seen, hoping by then she'd have calmed down, but the more time that passed, the angrier she got as her imagination got carried away with her.

Finally, Wednesday night, he called her at home. He knew immediately that something was wrong. It had been a long time since he'd heard that cold, angry tone in her voice. Forgetting all about his first real day on the job, he tentatively asked, "Uh, is something wrong?"

"You could say that."

His mind searched for what it could be, but he drew a blank. "Do you want to cue me in?"

"I stopped by Monday night."

"I wasn't home Monday night."

"I know. I was there when you got home."

"No, you weren't."

She exhaled hard, not a good sign. "Yes, Goren, I was. I was in the bedroom and I watched the entire scene with your barmaid friend from the hallway."

Oh, God...there it was. "Uhm, all she did was bring me home."

"I saw everything."

The memory was a little foggy but he was certain he'd sent her away. "But I didn't do anything."

"You thought about it."

"I think about a lot of things."

"Damn it, Goren. I..."

"You don't trust me," he interrupted in a sudden flash of insight, his voice both hurt and angry.

She paused. Did she trust him? Of course she did...most of the time. "That's not true," she protested, struggling to hold on to her anger. Recalling his condition Sunday night, she asked, "Did something happen to you this weekend?"

He was silent for a long time. Just when she was about to ask if he was still there, he said, "I...had a bad day Sunday."

She calmed a little more. "What happened?"

He really didn't want to do this over the phone, but she wasn't giving him a choice. "I...went to visit my mother's grave."

She felt more of her anger slip away. "I would have gone with you."

"I...I didn't think that was necessary. I, uh...I didn't expect...the reaction I had." He paused again. "I...I ended up...uh, I ended up in a very dark place, and...I couldn't find my way back."

"Why didn't you call me?"

She could hear him move about and she knew the conversation was upsetting him. When he didn't answer, she said, "I'll come over."

"No. Don't do that. You have to work in the morning and so do I."

She hesitated. "Did you get hammered again last night?"

"No. I had to work today."

That relieved some of her anxiety. "Are you sure you don't want me to come over?"

The fact of the matter was that he did, very much. But he was determined not to be any more of a burden to her than he had already been. She had already paid a big enough price to be with him. "I'm sure."

"You never answered my question. Why didn't you call me on Sunday?"

"I'm not an emotional cripple. At least, I don't think I am. I have to handle these things on my own, good or bad, because you won't be around all the time. I've got to get back on my own two feet, on solid ground, and I can't do that if I keep using you as a crutch."

"So you traded me for a bottle of scotch and a busty barmaid?"

"What? No! Alex..."

Her anger was back. "Forget it, Goren. It's late and I'm tired. Maybe I'll see you this weekend."

"Maybe? Alex..."

She hung up on him. With a violent swear, he threw the phone across the room. He started toward the kitchen, but stopped. He had to get up in the morning and Carmichael was a sharp man. He sighed heavily. If he was going to get rid of his crutches, he had to get rid of them all. Changing destinations, he went into the bedroom, but sleep was a long time in coming.

* * *

Late the next morning, Carmichael stopped in the doorway to the office that would be Goren's when he was in New York. He looked up at his boss and waited for the man to speak. "You look tired," the SAIC commented.

"I didn't sleep well last night," he admitted.

"Got a minute?"

Goren had been reviewing open casefiles, but he set down his pen and nodded. "What's on your mind?"

Even though it was only his second official day on the job, he discovered that he liked Carmichael. He had an open, inviting style similar to the one James Deakins had always had. He was approachable. The senior agent pulled up a chair and got right to the point. "They want you down in Quantico, Goren. You need to go through some basic agency orientation, but I got the waiver cleared for you not to have to attend most of the basic police procedural classes. What they really want you for, though, is one of the forensic classes. The agent who normally teaches the class was in a car accident last weekend and he's out until spring. Rather than overburden one of the other instructors, they want you to take the class."

It took a lot of effort for Goren to keep his poker face. "How long will I be gone?"

"Probably about four months."

He had not been planning on spending that much time away so soon. "Uh, what class is it?"

"Crime Scene Forensics."

He slowly nodded. What choice did he have? "When do I have to report in?"

"Monday morning. I just found out about it. Sorry for the short notice."

Goren allowed himself a soft sigh, then he indicated the files in front of him. "Do you mind if I take copies of these files with me?"

"Go right ahead. Call me if you come up with anything. I'll be really glad to get these burrs out from under my saddle if I can."

"I'll do what I can," Goren answered as Carmichael stood up.

With a nod, the senior agent left the office. Goren leaned back in his chair. This did not bode well for him, with the current storm in his relationship with Alex brewing. This did not bode well at all.

He called her that night, but she didn't answer the phone. He didn't try again. She was being stubborn, and he had no idea what she wanted from him. It was not going to be easy, working on this from Virginia, but there wasn't much he could do if she was going to ignore him. Passing on dinner, he drank a couple of beers and went to bed.

* * *

Friday passed quietly. He had lunch with Carmichael and they discussed the files he'd been reviewing. He had a few ideas, but he wanted to review some of the evidence first-hand and talk to some of the witnesses. Carmichael agreed to arrange things for him on the weekends he could get away and come back up to the city. He seemed glad to have Goren on his team.

At the end of the day, Carmichael appeared in the doorway of his office. He looked up from the file in front of him, and the senior agent smiled. "Give it a rest. Go home."

Go home. For what? There wasn't a whole lot there except an empty apartment. "I want to finish this, and I have to make those copies."

"I wanted to tell you to have a good trip. Let me know when you're coming up and I'll arrange for you to see that evidence. We'll work on those witness interviews as well."

"Thank you, sir."

Carmichael began to turn away but Goren called him back. He leaned back in his chair and asked, "Sir, if I, uh, were to change my mind...about things...if I wanted to stay with the unit at Quantico...what would that entail?"

Carmichael looked a little confused. "Just talk to me. But I'll warn you: I won't let you go without a fight."

Goren hesitated, studying his hands. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable. "Sir, if I do ever ask...please...don't fight me on it."

Carmichael studied him with the eye of a trained profiler. "Personal issues?"

Goren shifted uneasily. "Yes, sir."

The senior agent nodded, understanding. "I sincerely hope you get things worked out with her."

"I hope so, too."

Carmichael jingled his keys and said, "Try to relax, Goren, Your life will work itself out."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Good night, sir."

Carmichael gave a nod and a wave, turning from the doorway and walking away.

* * *

The sun was down when Goren left the office, his briefcase comfortably full of unsolved cases. He locked it in the trunk of the car. Four months in Virginia and he couldn't even get in touch with Alex to tell her. He knew how she could be when her anger got carried away with her, but he was really concerned. Had he screwed up that badly? He was certain he hadn't done anything wrong, other than accept a ride home from one of the bar workers. He had no control over her flirtatious manner, and he had told her no, firmly. What did she want from him? He wasn't going to sequester himself in his apartment when she wasn't around.

His mind continued to wander, until he found himself in a familiar neighborhood. He found a parking spot and locked up the car. It was a nice quiet neighborhood, two and a half blocks from the bar where he'd spent the latter part of Monday afternoon into the night. _Maybe I'll see you this weekend. Maybe_... All right, so maybe he wasn't quite ready to handle things without a little help. His life seemed to be spinning beyond his control again, and he felt lost. He desperately wanted to patch things up with Alex, but he couldn't do that if she wouldn't talk to him. _Damn_.

He walked down the street toward the bar.


	25. Resolution

He entered the tavern and looked around. They were doing a brisk business, not unusual for a Friday night, even in this quiet, out-of-the-way neighborhood. He was intercepted on his way to the bar by the barmaid Eames seemed so jealous of. Her name tag read 'Tawny.' "You're back," she purred.

He nodded. "But just for a couple of drinks. I haven't changed my mind."

She unbuttoned his coat and jacket. "Maybe I can change your mind."

Gently, he pulled her hands away. "Not tonight."

He stepped past her and slid onto an empty barstool, ordering his first drink. In his ever-active mind, he turned over the word 'jealousy.' He wondered if Eames really was jealous, or if something else drove her reaction—or rather, her overreaction—to what she thought she saw Monday night. He reviewed their conversation from the night before. Anger, concern, back to anger. He got the impression her anger was trying to slip away but she was holding onto it, and he wasn't quite sure why. He hated that the conversation had ended on a note of anger. He was even more disturbed by her 'maybe', especially with the spectre of his departure looming ahead of him.

"Why so gloomy, handsome?"

He looked at Tawny. "I have a lot on my mind," he answered.

"Maybe I can help you forget her."

He frowned. "I don't want to forget her. Please...I just need some time alone."

She caressed the back of his hand. "You don't have to be alone.."

"Yes...I do."

He turned his attention back to his drink, thoughts spinning inward, and she reluctantly went about her business.

* * *

Logan pulled the door open and let Eames proceed him into the busy bar. He liked this place. It was cozy and inviting, and he thought that maybe by helping her to unwind a little, he could get through to her and convince her that her boyfriend was not in the wrong here. Maybe he could get her to let go of her anger, which he did not understand at all. She wasn't the jealous type, so he had to believe there was something more to it than that. He just had no idea what that something could be.

As was his habit, he looked around the tavern, spotting the working barmaids and sizing them up. Three were familiar; two were new. He waved to the bartender, and then nearly tripped over his partner. "What the hell..."

She elbowed him in the ribs and pointed toward the bar. He was surprised to see Goren sitting there, but he was also glad. "Good. Go and talk to him."

Before she could answer, one of the barmaids sidled up to the big, brooding man. Eames backed up a few steps, until Logan stepped in her way. He leaned down and spoke into her ear. "She's the woman you're worried about, Eames? She friggin' comes on to everybody. She's got more mileage on her than a '68 Mustang. Believe me, she's nothing more than a one-nighter."

She looked up at him, eyes blazing. "So you're saying he's slumming it?"

"That's exactly what I'd be saying if he'd _done_ anything. Now go and talk to him before someone else claims that stool next to him."

She looked at him and he gave her a gentle shove. "Go."

After giving him an annoyed glare, she walked off, sliding onto the barstool beside Goren. She looked at him, recognizing the look on his face. He was turned into his head. She knew he was aware that someone took the stool beside him, but he paid no attention to who it was. She propped her arms on the bar and moved her hand over to touch his. He pulled away, glancing toward her. She watched his annoyance dissolve into surprise. "Al-Alex...what are you doing here?"

"I'd like to ask you the same question."

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. When she slid her hand back onto his, he did not pull away. Leaning up, she murmured into his ear, "Let's go for a walk."

He swallowed the last of his drink and nodded. A walk was exactly what he needed to clear his mind. As he paid his tab and stepped away from the bar, she moved away from his side and walked over to Logan, who was flirting with Tawny. "I'll get a ride from him," she said to him.

He gave her a smile. "Good. I'll see you Monday."

Tawny gave her a cold look. "Good luck with him. He has a girlfriend."

Eames sized her up before giving her an icy smile. "I know he does."

When she turned and walked off, Logan laughed. "She's the girlfriend, sweetness."

"So what's she doing with you?"

He laughed. "I'm just her partner. He's everything else...and more. You never had a chance with him. Now me...I'm unattached and willing, as you know."

She giggled. "I get off at two..."

* * *

As they walked down the block away from the bar, Eames began the conversation. "I overreacted, didn't I?"

"Did you?"

She sighed heavily. "I...I hated seeing you with her."

"I wasn't _with_ her. She brought me home, that's all."

She swallowed a surge of anger, but a little of it leaked through. "You were interested," she accused. "She...she got to you."

"Got to me? I told her no and sent her away. I didn't _do_ anything with her. As far as my interest..." He sighed impatiently. "Alex, you are not the only woman who incites my arousal. That's the nature of the beast. But you...you _are_ the only one I do anything about it with. That's my nature. You..." He paused for a moment. "You are the _only_ one I love. That means something to me, something I will not risk destroying. Can't you give me any credit for that?"

She could not explain her reluctance to let go of her anger, and she struggled with it. He walked beside her in silence until they reached his car. He leaned back against it and studied her. "You have to trust me, or what do we have? I won't live an illusion, and I won't lie to you. I..." He tipped his head back and looked toward the light-washed sky. "I was interested, yes. But...she has nothing to offer me that's better than what I already have. No one does. I didn't know you were there. I could have accepted her offer under the assumption you'd never find out. But I didn't. I wouldn't. I don't know what your problem is, or where it comes from...but, I can't take this."

He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys, unlocking the passenger door. He held the keys out to her. When she closed her hand around the keys, she clasped his fingers in her grip as well. He looked into her eyes without flinching, and she understood his indignant outrage. With a sigh of resignation, she stepped away and walked around to the driver's side of the car.

The ride to his apartment was silent, both struggling with their emotions. When she parked in front of his apartment, they got out of the car and he held out his hand for the keys. She dropped them into his hand as he said, "I can call you a cab, if you want."

"Are you asking me to go home?" she asked, finally speaking.

"No. You can do whatever you want."

"Do you mind if I come up?"

He shook his head. "I don't mind. You're never unwelcome here." He studied her face and said, "I need to talk to you anyway."

She followed him up to the apartment in silence. As she made a pot of coffee, he went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and a clean shirt. He took his time, and when he returned to the living room, she was sitting in a corner of the couch, shoes off, legs curled beneath her. An odd feeling clutched the center of his gut and he wished he'd had a lot more to drink.

He sat on the opposite side of the couch and took the coffee she had poured for him from the coffee table. "Can you explain what I did to warrant this from you?" he finally asked.

"No," she answered honestly. "Sometimes...anger is irrational."

His voice was strained. "Don't you trust me? After everything that happened, don't you understand how I feel about you?"

She rubbed the palm of her hand on her coffee cup. "You got yourself into trouble and you didn't call me," she accused.

"I dealt with it," he protested. "Maybe not the way you would have, but I dealt with it. Okay, maybe my judgment was a little off when I accepted a ride home from her, but I knew enough to tell her no when she wanted more from me. And by Wednesday, I was all right. By Wednesday, I was ready to talk about it."

She took a drink. "And now?"

"I'm past that. I've moved on to a more serious issue. You don't trust me, and if you don't, than there is no way we are going to work out." He got up and began to pace, one hand clamped against the back of his neck. He had no idea how to tell her he was leaving for Virginia for a few months,.

As she watched him pace, she got a sudden image of him with that barmaid, both here, in his living room, and in the tavern where she had seen them earlier. Everything coalesced and she felt it snap. Jumping to her feet, coffee cup forgotten, she rounded on him, stepping into the path of his pacing and hitting him hard in the center of his chest with both hands. She shoved him hard enough to knock him back a few steps. "Damn you," she growled. He had the good sense to remain quiet and let her shove him into the wall. She grabbed his shirt in her fists and pressed them into the muscles of his chest. "Damn you," she repeated. "As difficult as you can be, and as much grief as you have caused me, I love you and I don't want to live without you!"

He opened his mouth to say something but she clamped her hand over it and shook her head. Pulling her hand away, she hit him in the chest and said, "I want you to be all right, dammit! I want you to cut back on your drinking and stop self-destructing! I want you to survive your life so you can start building one with me!"

Embarrassed by her unexpected outburst, she released his shirt and backed away from him. He stared at her, shell-shocked and speechless. When she turned and hurried toward the door, he moved, getting there in just enough time to hit the door with the flat of his hand and slam it shut. "Let me go," she demanded, her voice half-growl, half-sob.

"No," he replied, his voice as calm as hers was upset.

She spun around to continue the fight, but he was too close. He brought his other arm around to brace against the wall on the other side of her and she was trapped. She knew that all she had to do was tell him to move, but she didn't. He moved his face closer to hers. "Where did that come from?" he asked.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. "I...I don't know," she answered around the lump in her throat.

"Did you mean it?"

She searched her emotions and found irritation. "I said it didn't I?"

"But you didn't mean to say it."

"Not those exact words at that exact time, no. But it's out now."

"Do you still want to leave?"

She shook her head. He pulled back, withdrew his hands and stepped away. She felt the withdrawal of something powerful, almost primal, and she felt oddly weakened by its sudden disappearance. She slumped back against the wall and watched him. He paced like a caged tiger, full of pent-up energy with no outlet for it. Watching him, she got a sense of raw power and churning emotion, and she was hit with a wave of almost overwhelming desire. Before she could stop herself, she moved toward him, fast. She hit him hard, using the momentum of her approach to knock him backwards, toward the coffee table. The back of his legs hit the table but she didn't let up and he toppled backwards, landing partly on the table and partly on the couch with his hips and waist spanning the empty space between. She landed directly on top of him, and she caught him in a hard kiss.

Confused by the attack, he had no idea what to make of it, until her mouth crashed into his. He could feel desire and lust like a physical force emanating from her and he surrendered to it. Words fled from his mind and he forgot about talking. Giving himself over to the storm, he let go of everything he had been holding onto, and so did she.

* * *

He was laying on the couch with one hellcat of a woman stretched on top of him. He hadn't let go like that in a very long time. "Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair, afraid he might have hurt her.

"Fine," she assured him, exhausted.

"Where the _hell _did that come from?" he wondered.

"It was a long time in coming and you know it. I guess it just had nowhere else to go but out."

"So now what?"

She lifted her head to look at him. "So now we correct the mistakes of the past and we talk."

He gave her a mischievous grin. "Let me find my clothes first. I know you popped off a few buttons..."

"Oh, shut up and get dressed."

She got up, gathered her clothes and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He sat up and watched her retreating form before gathering his own clothes together and going into the bedroom. He opted for sweats this time and returned to the living room.

He was picking up shattered pieces of coffee cup when she came into the room. He carried the broken cup to the kitchen and dropped it in the trash. "It's a good thing I have sturdy furniture that can take a beating."

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry about that. I..."

"Don't apologize. You get mad when I do. It's all right. I can get another coffee cup, and bruises heal. Sit down."

He sat beside her on the couch. "Maybe I should have called you, but it was good for me to handle it on my own. I won't always cope in a way you think I should, but you need to let me deal with things in my own way."

"So what got to you?"

He was quiet for a long time. "I suppose just seeing her grave brought back a lot of emotion I'd never dealt with. As you know, I don't handle that too well."

"Which is why I don't get why you didn't call me."

"Even you need a break, Alex. I know how precious time with your family is to you. I will not pull you away from them or make you feel conflicted about spending time with them. It's not a choice I will ever force you to make."

"I appreciate that, but you needed me."

"I was all right."

She shook her head. "No, you weren't."

With a shrug, he amended, "I knew I would be."

She glared at him with a challenge in her eyes. "Did you really?"

He rose to meet the challenge. "Yes. I have you, and as long as that doesn't change, everything will be all right. It didn't quite go the way I planned it to, but it did work out."

She gave that some thought, then said, "Wednesday...I know you didn't call me to argue."

"Uh, no, I didn't. I wanted to invite you to dinner, to discuss what happened to me Sunday and tell you about my first day on the job."

"I was still angry. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. We worked it out. Uh...we did work it out, didn't we?"

She gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes. We worked it out."

"So you do trust me?"

She nodded. "Yes, I trust you."

"Then I have something else to tell you. I, um, I have to go to Quantico on Monday. They want me to teach a class on crime scene forensics because the instructor was in a car accident."

She stared at him. "How long will you be gone?"

"A couple of months, but I'll be able to come home most weekends. Or you can come down to see me."

"And you're okay with this?"

He chewed on his lip. "No, I'm not okay with it. But I don't have a choice in the matter. It's my job, Alex. I'm not at liberty to pick and choose assignments."

She sat back into the couch and crossed her arms, a frown on her face. He recognized the signs of her withdrawal. She was closing herself off to think about it. He left her alone, allowing his own thoughts to turn inward. He was beginning to wonder if he really had done the right thing by taking the FBI job when she moved from her spot on the couch.

Sliding closer to him, she touched his arm to draw his attention to her. "You're right. If I don't trust you, we will never work out. I want you to know that I do trust you, as much as I ever have. I once trusted you with my life. Now—I trust you with my heart, and that's something much more fragile. I don't like the idea that you're going to be away for months at a time, but we can work through it. Washington's not that far."

He studied her face, searching for any evidence of uncertainty. "You're not mad any more?"

"I can't say that. I'm mad that you didn't call me when you needed me. And yes, I'm still mad about your little lapse in judgment. If you need a ride home, call me or Logan, or take a cab. Don't go accepting rides from women with another agenda."

His mouth twitched. "That was very...diplomatic. Is that it?"

She gave it a moment of thought. "I suppose so. I just need to add one thing."

"What's that?"

She slid closer, into his side, arching up to bring her face closer to his. "I love you, you big ape."

He smiled and relaxed in the knowledge that everything was going to work out. He brushed his lips over hers. "I love you, too," he murmured.

She caught his mouth in a deep kiss then settled against his side. "So how far is Quantico?"

"About 300 miles. An hour and a half or so by air or 5 hours by car."

"How are you going?"

"I'm driving."

Snuggling closer, she teased the hem of his shirt, slipping her hand onto warm skin. "So...we have the weekend?"

"We do."

Shifting her position to turn her face toward his, she whispered, "Then let's make it count."

His face relaxed into a smile and he tipped his head toward her, claiming her mouth and happy to oblige.


	26. A New Beginning

Late Sunday afternoon, Bobby set about preparing dinner, refusing to let Alex help. He spent the afternoon chasing her out of the kitchen, and she was delighted to see the spontaneous return of his playfulness. She ignored the two beers he drank while he was cooking, continuing to tease him until he finally sent her to the store for a couple of last minute items. Once she left the apartment, he really got to work.

The neighborhood bodega wasn't far, so she walked. As she did, she thought about their impending separation. It was going to be a test for them both. She knew that absence tended to raise Goren's insecurities and it was going to take time for him to adjust to the changes in their lives. She knew there were going to be many drastic ups and downs as his life settled into some kind of routine, and she certainly welcomed the 'ups' with delight. It was his 'down' time that she dreaded, knowing his coping mechanisms were not the greatest and she would not be able to be with him a lot of the time. He would have to find his own way sometimes, and that worried her, in spite of his assurances that he would manage. His recent meltdown after visiting his mother's grave was the primary reason for her uneasiness. She knew he wouldn't call her, even if he needed her, and she was no longer as adept as she'd once been at reading his voice. Whether that was because he was better at hiding or she had lost touch that much, she couldn't be certain.

Tonight was her last chance to get through to him before he left, the last chance she'd have for awhile to discuss what had happened the other day and what she'd meant by her outburst. He had deftly avoiding talking about it all weekend, but she could not let him leave without some clarification for them both.

It had been a long, rocky journey, but he had come back to her. Now he needed to manage the rest of the world. She had no idea how she could help him do that, or even if he would let her, but she had to try, as much as she was able.

* * *

When she returned to the apartment, she pushed the door open and stopped in her tracks. The lights were dimmed, replaced by candlelight. The stereo sang softly to her, an instrumental piece she remembered from a long ago date, a memory that stirred something deep inside her. She walked slowly into the room, setting the paper bag in her arm down on the coffee table as she proceeded to the dining area. The table was adorned with a white tablecloth and two tall, burgundy, tapered candles. It was set for two, and dinner had just been dished out. She looked toward the kitchen, her eyes bright with amusement and surprise, underscored by the muted heat of passion. "You were busy," she commented.

He walked out of the kitchen to set the wine bottle in the center of the table. "I don't know when we're going to get to have dinner like this again. I wanted to make it special for you."

His words came back to her from a recent conversation. _Romance isn't love. It's manipulation. Sex isn't love. It's physical need. _

She looked around. "This is...romantic." Her eyebrow arched in suspicion. "Goren, are you trying to manipulate me?"

He hesitated. "Do you need candles and soft music for me to convince you to do anything with me?"

"No, of course not."

"Then, no."

She struggled to hide her amusement. "You are being romantic, very romantic."

"I know how to be romantic, Eames, in spite of the fact that it's never had any significance for me before."

"And it does now?"

He leaned his hip against the wall. "Yes."

She stood in front of him and held his gaze. "Tell me how," she said.

He tipped his head to the side, resting it against the wall. "You once told me how much you loved romantic gestures. I fell flat in that category before, so I'm trying to make it up to you. It means something to me because it means something to you. I'm not trying to get anything from you; I just want to make you happy for a change."

She searched her memory for the conversation he referred to but came up blank. "When did I ever tell you I thought anything about romantic gestures?"

"It was a case we had. Anthony Farnell...he wined and dined his girlfriend before he choked her to death in the bedroom..."

"I remember. Not the ideal ending to a romantic evening."

"You made that point at the time. And you also said it had been a long time since anyone had given you a romantic evening, and you kind of missed that."

She nodded. "I did miss it. But you never took the hint."

He looked down. "My mother was dying. I wouldn't have taken the hint if you'd hit me over the head with it."

"Yeah, I noticed. I didn't think it even registered with you."

"It registered, and I remembered. I'm sorry it took so long for me to act on it. You deserve better."

She chose not to address that at the moment. Instead, she said, "You remember the most random things." She reached out and grabbed his hand, adding, "It's one of your more annoying qualities...and one of your more endearing ones."

"It's funny how I can do that, isn't it?"

"Annoy me and make me fall in love with you all at the same time, every day?"

He arched his eyebrow and quirked his mouth into a grin. "Is that what I do?"

"Every day, Bobby. Let's eat. I'm starving."

_And we need to talk before you take off for Virginia,_ she added in her head. He pulled out her chair for her, and he almost did her in when he leaned in and brushed his lips across her neck. She shuddered with delight. She was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. Her favorite wine on the table, one of her favorite colors for the candles, one of her favorite meals on the plate before her...

As she moved toward the chair, she leaned up and kissed him. "I love that you can still surprise me," she said as she rested her head against his chest.

She could feel the thrum of his heart against his chest and the tremor in his hand as his fingers brushed her hair back from her face. With a smile, she sat down and let him shift the chair closer to the table. She looked at her plate as he poured the wine. Chicken, broccoli and mashed potatoes...a simple, delicious meal. _Perfect for tonight_, she mused.

She watched him sit in the seat adjacent to hers instead of across from her, where he would have sat as recently as a week ago. Several weeks ago, he would not have joined her at all. "You're looking good, Bobby."

He looked up, surprised by the compliment. "Th-thank you," he replied tentatively, not sure exactly what had initiated it.

She did not elaborate, but instead, began eating. He was a bit uncertain, but he followed her lead and began eating his own dinner. When she was about halfway done, she said, "All right, Bobby. I need you to tell me what this means for us."

He looked up. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean you being in Virginia and me being here. How is this going to work? You've already proven that you won't call me when something goes wrong."

His mouth tightened into a line. "I made a mistake, but...I needed to handle it on my own, and I did. I...I can't be calling you for every little thing."

"This wasn't a little thing!"

"And that's why I needed to deal with it. Alex, don't ask me to call you every time I bump my head. I won't do it. But I will call you to let you know how my day was and to ask how yours went. I'll call to tell you I was thinking of you and that I miss you. I'll call to say good night and I love you. I'll be all right, because I know that, when all is said and done, when my day is over, you're still going to be the most important person in my life."

She let his words tumble about her mind as they finished eating. Remembering the point he was at when she found him in Sacramento, she mused over how far he had come as she watched him finish his meal. He still drank a lot more than she was comfortable with and she hated that he was smoking again, but time would take care of those issues as well. What mattered most to her was that she had him back, and he was whole and healing.

He was doing his best to use his healing arm normally, although from time to time it still reminded him what had happened to it. He refused to deal with physical therapy, and she decided that was not a battle worth undertaking as long as he continued to improve. But how could she gauge his recovery, physical and emotional, now?

She knew he was no longer on the edge and in danger of slipping over it, but he was still prone to setbacks, especially when he was uncertain. Not seeing him for weeks at a time was not an acceptable option to her. That would be detrimental to them both.

She helped him clear the table and they retired to the couch. When he reached for the remote, she grabbed it first and hid it in the cushions behind her. He looked at her expectantly as she shook her head and said, "No TV tonight."

He leaned back and waited. She looked forward to the time when he would be confident enough to make the next move rather than defer to her. He was still finding his way. She shifted closer to him. "I want to make sure we're very clear about a few things before you go."

"All right."

"I...lost my temper Friday night...and I wanted to clarify something." His warm, dark eyes were clear and focused on her face. His upper body inclined toward hers, expressing interest. Impulsively, she reached out and skimmed her thumb along his jaw, filled with a comfortable, warm feeling. "What I said, about building a life with you...I want you to know that I meant that. I was also serious about wanting you to stop self-destructing. Bobby, I can't take being away from you for months, or even weeks, at a time. My imagination will drive me nuts, wondering how you're doing and picturing the worst. I'm being honest with you. I don't like this."

When she fell silent, he turned to his thoughts and searched his feelings before he answered. His caution did not surprise her. He reached out, tentatively wrapping his fingers around her hand and drawing it toward him. She shifted closer, allowing him to settle her hand in his lap. He stroked her palm with his thumb and quietly said, "I have to find my own way, to live my own life. You know that. You belong here, with the department. I don't. So I'm trying to find my way with the Bureau, and it may work for me. I have to give it a chance."

She nodded, closing her hand around his thumb, which was distracting her. "I get that, and I don't have a problem with it. The Bureau may give you the freedom you need, something the department never could. That can't be bad for you. But you're still recovering your bearings, Bobby...with me and with your life. I don't want to see you backslide."

"I can't promise I'll never run into any trouble. I don't think I have ever done anything without backsliding. But I have you, and I will always manage. You have to give me a chance."

She squeezed his hand. "You're not giving me much choice, are you?"

"Not really. I don't have much choice myself." He paused. "I'm going to be teaching, and I'll be home on the weekends, working on some cold cases I've been reviewing. I have evidence to review and witnesses to see, here in New York. I'll see you most weekends, Alex. It won't be unbearable and it's not permanent."

"You'll call me?"

He nodded. "I will. I'll miss you."

She shifted closer to him. "Promise me...you'll never run away again. Never try to second guess me, and don't think I will ever do better without you. I don't want to let you go. Please, remember that."

He tipped his head to the right and caught her eyes, which were bright with tears. "You can see how well I do without you," he replied. "I need you, and I love you. I won't forget that."

"Make sure that you don't," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

He looked down at their hands and she released his thumb. With a soft smile, he raised her hand to his mouth and softly kissed it, raising his eyes toward her when she caught her breath. He brushed his lips over the pulse point at her wrist, and she closed her eyes. He raised his other hand and buried it in her hair, drawing her closer. He kissed her deeply, pressing his body into hers. His fingers deftly undid the buttons of her shirt, and she made short work of his belt.

_Love is an emotional catastrophe._ Her last thought before losing herself to him was that she was happy to be his catastrophe.

* * *

She woke when he untangled himself from her body and slid from the bed. He moved about the room and she drifted back to sleep. She woke again when he leaned over to kiss her. Opening her eyes, she looked at him in the dim light cast by the streetlight and the light in the hallway. His hair was still damp from his shower and he was dressed in a dark suit with a blue striped tie. The scent of his cologne filled her head and she rubbed her palm over his freshly shaven cheek. "I will miss you," she whispered, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

He fingered her hair. "You are beautiful," he answered. "I love you."

"Call me tonight?"

He nodded and kissed her. When he got to the door, she called him back. He turned. "I love you, too, Bobby. Be careful."

He smiled at her and left the room. She'd helped him pack his car the night before, so there was nothing left to grab except his old, worn binder and his keys. Stepping from the apartment, he locked the door behind him.

In the bedroom, Alex turned over onto her side and pulled the comforter tight around her, breathing in the lingering scent of him. He was starting over, and she knew this was the best thing for him. He was on his way to a good life, and she prayed he would not do anything to sabotage it.

* * *

**A/N: That's it for Chasm, folks. Thank you so much for enjoying the ride with me! I have been asked to continue this storyline in a third sequel, showing Bobby's trials and tribulations with the FBI and the continued evolution of his relationship with Alex. **

**Also, I do want to thank everyone for their kind thoughts and good wishes for my daughter. She is on dialysis, which we do at home every night, and she is doing well. She is feeling better and the dialysis is doing its job. We continue to wait for a kidney for her and pray it will come soon.**


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